


Fireworks and Warnings

by GoldenEyesObsession



Series: Kintsugi [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Discovering Submission, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Spanking, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Promiscuity, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, allusions to past underage, dub-con barebacking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenEyesObsession/pseuds/GoldenEyesObsession
Summary: Discovered as a child, Vincent Safinov is one of the most recognizable models on the planet by the time he's twenty-two. He sleeps around a lot, but it's not like he's really looking for sex as much as he just doesn't see a lot of reason to turn people down. Sex is fun, it makes people feel good, and, if he's lucky, it sometimes scratches at that strange need inside him. When he meets Gareth Delbonis, a man with a lot of connections but no obvious employment, things start to change.Vince slipped out of Gareth's hands years before when his modeling took off and his family was able to pay off their debts to Gareth's group. Faced with the man Vince has become, Gareth has no intention of allowing him to slip away again."Be careful, my darlings. There are people out there that taste like fireworks and bliss, but leave ashes and warnings in the aftertaste of the kiss." ~ Nikita GillThis is an alternate world of the same characters in Prepared to Sacrifice. You do NOT need to read that to understand this. They are both entirely standalone.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: Kintsugi [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725214
Comments: 64
Kudos: 238





	1. Old Habits

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate version of my fic _Prepared to Sacrifice_ because readers really loved Gareth and Vince's relationship in that. There is no need to read either of these to understand one another. They should be able to stand entirely independent of one another. There will be less smut and more plot here, but planning to still have a lot of smut as Gareth and Vince explore Vince's innate sub.
> 
> *On Hiatus*

“Great work, everyone,” Jacob Zielinski, the photographer calls out and people begin to disperse. Vince stretches because the poses he’d been holding were awkward, and making them look natural took work. He swings his arms, getting the rest of the strain out of them, even as he approaches Jacob. The photographer glances up at him, and Vince catches the heat in his eyes.

He knows that look well these days. He’s twenty-two, finally legal for everything stateside, at least, but he’s been traveling internationally since he was sixteen, and he’s been modeling since he was discovered at twelve. Blessed—if you wanted to call it that—with not only golden hair and skin, but unique amber eyes that are often described as golden adds up to a highly desirable package. He knows very, _very_ well what desire looks like.

“Do you need me for anything else?” he asks Jacob. What he’s really asking is if Jacob wants to fuck him tonight. It’s weird, to be taller than him now. He’d had a final growth spurt when he was twenty that brought him to 6’1”, and even though he should be used to it, he hasn’t seen Jacob nearly as often since, so it’s still a little jarring to be several inches taller than he is. Vince remembers being much smaller than him.

“I’ll send you a text if I do,” Jacob replies. Vince shrugs and goes to return the clothing to the assistants.

He’s not surprised that he has a text from Jacob before he leaves. It just says a room number, but Vince knows what he wants.

Angelique—another model—notices him glancing at his phone. She’s… a friend, in as much as Vince has friends among other models. She’s a 6’2” exotic beauty—the kind that only multiple ethnicities seem to bring out. Her skin is a warm caramel, maybe two shades darker than his own, and her long, thick hair is black as a raven’s wing, while her eyes are a piercing, shining green. She’s been doing this since she was fourteen, so she’s nearly as much a veteran as Vince, but she does more high fashion. He’s always surprised when he remembers how beautiful she is, but then, surrounded by the most beautiful men and women on the planet regularly, his perspective is probably distorted. “You don’t have to, you know,” she says to him, close and low when he puts his phone away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells her, grabbing his jacket. He had scrubbed as much makeup from his face as he could, but the only thing to get that crap out of his hair is a shower.

She frowns at him. Her full lips, painted rose-red that make her eyes practically glow, frown prettily. She reaches out and locks her elbow with his, and he’s stuck unless he wants to make a scene. “Walk me out?” she says it like a question, but he knows it’s not.

When they’re well away from everyone else involved in the shoot, she says, “You don’t have to go to him, you know.”

He sighs. It’s not the first time he’s had this conversation. “I’m an adult,” he says, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Jacob has been fucking you since you were sixteen,” she says, low and a little angry in his ear. He stops and yanks her so he can stare at her.

“Where did you hear that?” he demands. It’s true, but it’s not common knowledge. Vince himself has never breathed a word of it to anyone.

“Baby, I’ve been watching that man eye fuck you since we started working together. He’s a great photographer, but he’s _slime_. You’re established and famous and in super demand. You don’t have to do favors for him anymore.”

He rolls his eyes and starts walking again. “I’ll thank you to stay out of it.”

“But—”

“I’m not fucking him for work,” Vince says, low but getting angry.

“Oh, really?” She’s being extremely sarcastic, but he ignores it.

“You know my reputation by now,” he tells her. “It’s not undeserved.”

“Are you really trying to tell me that you’re such a slut you’ll sleep with a sleezy photographer just because he wants you to?”

“I am really telling you that I really like sex, and I really like being fucked, and just because we have a _history_ doesn’t mean I’m doing him any favors,” he says, keeping his voice low and speaking in quick, clipped words.

This time Angelique pulls on his arm to stop him and make them face one another again.

“That’s it? _That’s_ what you’re going with?” she asks.

Vince lets his head hang back for a moment, staring at the twilighting sky. “He’s sleezy but he’s a good lay,” he admits, then straightens back so he’s looking at her. “It’s really not that complicated.”

She gives him a hard look, as if trying to decide if she believes him or if he’s lying. He’s not, so he lets her look as long as she needs. Jacob _is_ a decent lay. He likes it a little rough, but he’s careful not to leave marks, and he loves to be in control. Something about being with Jacob hits Vince’s buttons right, their history notwithstanding. Also, if Jacob is fucking him, he’s not fucking up anyone else. Vince may get off on Jacob’s preferred flavor of sex, but he’s heard enough stories going around about girls and boys he’s been with who _don’t_.

“I worry about you,” she finally says, stroking his arm. He shrugs her off. He doesn’t really like to be touched if he’s not either working or having sex.

“It was cute when you worried about me when we were sixteen. It’s less cute now,” he tells her.

“Yeah, well, you haven’t exactly given me _fewer_ reasons to worry,” she says tartly.

He shrugs and looks at his watch. “I’m starving, so I’m going to go get food.”

She sighs this time. “Want some company?” she asks.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Will you actually eat?”

She pushes him, but it’s gentle and barely makes him shift. “Fuck you.”

“Is that an invitation?” he teases because he can’t help it.

“It is _not_!” she exclaims, but she’s laughing, and that’s really all Vince cares about.

* * *

Dinner is fun. Vince really doesn’t have a lot of friends, period, and if he’s with people, it’s usually for work or sex. The only person he spends any significant time with who doesn’t fall into either of those categories is his sister, Amelie. She’s a sophomore in college, so between the amount Vince travels and her own busy schedule, they don’t get a lot of time together these days, but he tries to touchbase by text at least once a day, and they try to talk at least once every three days.

He is having such a good time with Angelique, he jumps when his phone goes off.

“Fuck,” he says when he reads the text. It’s from Jacob, and short and to the point: _Where R U?_

The waiter had luckily been coming back around, so Vince makes the motion for check. They’re just at the hotel restaurant, at least. He can put it on his room tab and go up to see Jacob immediately. Angelique frowns.

“You don’t have to,” she says again. The waiter is efficient and brings the check back before he can get into it again.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says, rather than answering her question. “My treat,” he adds, signing off with his room number and signature and handing it back to the waiter.

She looks disappointed as he stands up and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, but he just wishes her a quickly good night and leaves, shooting a quick _OMW_ back to Jacob.

He barely raises his hand to knock before Jacob flings the door open and drags him in.

“What the fuck were you doing?” he demands, turning on his heel and going into the room.

“I had dinner with Angelique and lost track of time,” he says, following Jacob. The older man pulls his shirt off and settles himself on the kingsize bed, propping himself up. He palms himself through his jeans. He’s on the wrong side of forty, but he’s a narcissist, so he keeps himself in excellent shape. He’s not really handsome, at least not by Vince’s standards, but there is something interesting about his face, and he has an incredible intensity to him.

“You gonna fuck her?” Jacob asks.

“Who, Angelique?” he asks, taken aback.

“Who else?”

“Of course not,” Vince says.

“Why not? She’s hot.”

Vince tosses his jacket over the desk chair. “She’s just a friend. I don’t fuck friends.”

Jacob snorts. “Just everyone else.”

“Seeing as I fuck you, I don’t see where you get off complaining,” Vince snaps back.

Jacob leans forward and crooks a finger to summon Vince to him. Vince goes, a little wary. The moment he’s in arm’s reach, Jacob yanks him over his lap. He gets a firm grip on Vince’s hair and pull’s backward, making Vince arch and gasp, even as his other hand shoves down into Vince’s pants. Jacob strokes Vince’s dick in the confined space, and he gasps again, now arching not just from the hand in his hair, but trying to thrust up into that hand.

Jacob chuckles low, the gravely drag of a man who smokes three packs a day, and he always smells like an expensive ashtray. “You are such a fucking slut. It’s amazing you can even fuck a woman, pussy boy.” He lets go of Vince, and shoves him until he’s halfway down his legs.

A little disoriented from the harsh tease to absolute lack of stimulation, he gets slowly to his hands and knees, and gets a foot in his side, shoving him to the end of the bed. “Strip for me, slut.”

The pain stole Vince’s arousal. He didn’t mind a little bit of pain to intensify the pleasure during sex, but it wasn’t a turn on independently. He got off the bed, holding his side, but he can tell that the kick just caught him in a tender spot. Jacob wouldn’t dare leave anything as damning as a bruise on a model.

While he slowly stands Jacob pulls out his phone and turns on something low and sultry. “Gimme a show, slut.”

 _You don’t have to do this_ , Angelique’s voice reminds him. But she’s wrong. If he said no before he stepped into that room, he wouldn’t have to do this. But he’s there now, and Jacob is usually very good about not leaving marks, but Vince has no idea what he would do if Vince tried to walk out now.

So he pulls his T-shirt off his back, and sways to the music, turns his back to Jacob so he can look over his shoulder and tease him. Jacob continues to palm himself through his jeans as Vince dances and strips for him. He slowly unbuttons his own pants, undulating his stomach. He discreetly steps out of his shoes and toes off his socks while distracting Jacob. When his pants are totally open, he turns his back to Jacob again and eases them down over his ass, revealing the fact he’d been going commando. He can hear Jacob breathe a little harder at the revelation.

“No underwear?” he asks, voice a little ragged.

Vince bends over to push the pants all the way down, showing off both his ass and flexibility. When he stands back up and turns to face Jacob, he’s about half hard. “Just for you,” he says.

“There’s lube on the desk there. Bend over that chair, spread those legs, and let me see your face as you open your ass up.”

Vince flushes, but his cock twitches and gets harder at the command. He turns the chair so he can lay himself over its arms, then spreads his legs.

“Wider, slut.”

Vince takes a breath and moves his legs wider until his toes are just touching the floor on either side. He takes the lube. He turns awkwardly, weirdly grateful his agent suggested yoga years ago, and pours some lube straight between his cheeks. Not a lot—just enough to get the party started. He sets the lube aside, and runs his fingers in it, slicking them up before teasing his hole. He has his head turned, so he can watch Jacob as he opens himself up.

The first finger goes in easily, and it’s barely a tease. He doesn’t hesitate much before he adds a second finger, and he sighs as he does. That’s better. Not good, but better. Jacob unbuckles his belt and takes his own dick out.

“Another one,” Jacob tells him, and Vince adds a third finger. He groans as it sinks in. The third always starts to hit that sweet spot, scratch that weird need inside. “Look at me, slut.” Vince had looked away, but he now looks over. Jacob is stroking his length slowly, his eyes glued to Vince. “How does it feel? I want you to tell me.”

Vince hates this. Even more than he hates it, he really hates that it seems to turn him on. “It’s…”

“Words, pretty boy. I want to hear your words. How does it feel, fingering your own ass?”

“Good,” Vince admits.

“How good, baby? Tell daddy.”

Vince hates when he does that. It puts Vince back in his own head when that’s not what he wants when he gets fucked. “Feels so good,” he says instead, hoping the words will help get him back into the feeling.

“Is your hole lonely without daddy’s dick, baby?”

At that, Vince straightens. He grabs the condom off the table.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jacob demands as Vince tears open the pack as he goes to stand next to the bed. He grabs Jacob’s dick to slide the condom on.

“Making sure that we both get laid,” he says coolly. “Before you fuck it up.” He slings a leg over Jacob’s hips and straddles him, putting his cock at Vince’s entrance. Feeling the head press against the just-prepped opening helps almost immediately. He shifts, preparing to ease onto it, when Jacob grabs his hips and pulls him down, while at the same time, thrusting up _hard_. Vince doesn’t cum, but it’s only because he had come down so far.

Once he’s speared to the hilt, Jacob grabs his hair, making him arch again, which makes Jacob’s cock rub up against his prostate in that perfect, beautiful way that starts making all the spinning thoughts go away. “Is this what you needed, slut?” Jacob demands, harsh, thrusting hard even though Vince hasn’t fully adjusted. “You just needed a dick inside you? Need that boy cunt fucked?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Vince gasps, trying to roll his hips.

“Fucking miracle you can use this dick at all when you love a man’s cock in your cunt so much,” Jacob snarls, slapping at Vince’s now rock-hard dick. The way they’re coupled doesn’t really let him get a good hit in, and it just heightens everything when some part of him is pretty sure Jacob wanted that to hurt. “What do you think, slut? Can I fuck you till you cum?”

“Oh, God, please,” he begs, even as Jacob pulls his hair hard, making him bend even further back. Jacob thrusts up several times, hard, right into Vince’s prostate. He’s cum from just his ass a few times, and it’s always fucking _amazing_ when he does, different than cumming normally. It’s more intense and more drawn out, but it tends to take him a while to get there, and most of his partners aren’t willing or able to fuck him for that long.

Jacob slaps his ass— _hard_ —and it makes Vince clench up, which makes Jacob rub just right, so he can’t really complain, he just moans. Jacob slaps him again, and gets the same result. “Fuck, baby. Milk daddy’s cock with that ass,” Jacob tells him, slapping his ass again, alternating between cheeks. He is rubbing right up against Vince’s prostate, and it’s making his brain foggy. He doesn’t like being hit, and the slaps are getting harder, hurting more, hurting enough that even the lovely rub of a cock against his spot is getting lost. “Jesus fuck. The way you clench when I smack you.” Vince starts to whimper and his cock starts to wilt.

Another hard slap—and this one feels like it could be bruising—then Jacob says, “Get on your hands and knees, baby.” Vince does, even as he’s definitely losing his edge. Jacob shoves his pants around his thighs, gets between Vince’s spread legs, and fucks back into him in one, long, hard thrust, and it hits his spot just right to start winding him up again. “Been such a bad girl,” Jacob says, one hand on Vince’s hip as he thrusts, the other alternating between spanking him. “Daddy’s gotta punish you like the dirty slut you are.”

Vince hangs his head, caught between the way Jacob’s cock is making him feel and the way his words are making him feel. That cock is glorious, but the words and the slapping are both new and they are _not_. Jacob is still hitting him, moaning, and now he’s fucking into Vince, but it’s like he’s purposefully missing his spot. That’d normally be fine because Vince enjoys being fucked even without prostate stimulation, but the pain and the words are turning him off, and he can’t even enjoy just being filled.

The hand that was on his hip moves around and starts playing with his now entirely limp dick. He wants to pull away from it, but he kind of can’t go anywhere with Jacob’s dick in him.

“Oh, fuck, that’s hot, baby girl,” Jacob grunts into his ear, pressing his sweaty chest to Vince’s back. “You don’t need that clit, do you? You can come just from your pussy, just like a good girl, can’t you?”

“Jacob—”

“It’s Daddy, baby girl.” Jacob returns his grip to Vince’s him and smacks him hard enough to get a whine out Vince. “Remember it’s your daddy filling your cunt. Such a dirty, naughty slut, you are.” The words keep flowing over Vince even as he continues spanking, and now, now it just hurts. The occasional scrape of dick on prostate is nowhere near enough to offset the pain and degradation. “Gotta punish your hole. Daddy’s gotta punish his slutty baby, make sure she doesn’t want any dick but daddy’s filling her nasty hole.” His hips start thrusting wildly, and then he stills as he cums, slumped against Vince’s back.

Vince stays very still. _Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breath out._

Jacob groans as he pushes himself up. He pats Vince’s side as he slides out. “God, that was hot, baby.” He says it like a compliment, but it makes Vince want to kick him in his dick. He doesn’t say anything, just sidles over to the side of the bed and gets off on trembling legs. His ass aches, both inside and out. He listens to Jacob clean himself up as he sits back on the end of the bed to pull his pants up, careless of the lube getting on the blanket. The denim is rough against the sensitized skin as he pulls them up and he hisses.

“Sorry if I was a little rough there. You were just… Fuck, you were so hot.”

 _I didn’t do a damn thing except let you fuck me_ , he thinks bitterly, but his throat is tight. He’s afraid if he tries to open his mouth, he’s going to start screaming or crying, and he honestly isn’t sure which would be worse. He bends down to grab his socks and stuffs them into a pocket. No way is he sitting or bending long enough to put them on. He stands, taking only a moment to make sure his legs will hold him, then plucks his shirt off the desk and pulls hit back on, forcing himself to straighten his back. He slides his feet into his shoes and grabs his jacket.

“So, till next time?” Jacob asks, and for the first time he seems to notice that something isn’t quite right with Vince.

“Night,” Vince manages to force out, and he leaves before Jacob can say anything else.

He goes to the elevator, grateful they’re on different floors. Jacob doesn’t chase him, but Vince would be surprised if he even thought he should.

 _It wasn’t rape_ , he tells himself. He went there to get fucked. He put the condom on Jacob’s dick, would have sat on it if Jacob hadn’t beat him to it. So he didn’t like the spanking or the daddy talk. He isn’t turned on by being treated like a woman. He never said “stop” or “no.” It’s buyer’s remorse, and lesson learned—whatever Jacob did before that worked for Vince is gone. He punches the elevator button with more force than necessary, not that it’ll make it come any faster.

When the doors open, Vince almost decides to take the stairs. Mathieu Monfils is a model Vince has worked with before, but he’s a bully and sees everyone as a threat to his career. Vince really, _really_ isn’t in the headspace to deal with it.

Mathieu looks at him weirdly. “Are you going up?” he asks, holding the door.

Vince decides it’s weirder if he doesn’t and gets on. “Thanks.” His floor is already selected so he just leans against the wall as it goes up.

“Look, man, I know we’re not friends or anything,” Mathieu says, his English colored with his native French. He has a nice voice, and Vince has always thought it’s a shame his voice is so sexy when the man himself is such a bitch. “But you look like shit. Is everything okay?”

 _Jesus_ , he thinks. He must look really awful if _Mathieu Monfils_ noticed enough to ask. “I’m…” His voice catches in his throat, and he has to stop and clear it, but fortunately, they arrive at their floor. “I’m fine. Thanks,” he manages. He gets maybe five steps down the hall before Mathieu’s heavy feet catch up with him and grabs his shoulder. Vince doesn’t think, he _reacts_. He turns and swats the hand away, and he has no idea what’s on his face, but it makes Mathieu’s face harden. He grabs Vince’s arm and all but frog marches him to what must be his room.

“What the fuck?” Vince demands, suddenly angry.

Mathieu closes the door and throws the deadbolt, then plants himself in front of it. “That’s what I want to know.”

“Jesus Christ, Monfils. What do you fucking want?” he demands.

“I want you to tell me what happened.”

“You are such a—just fucking let me go to my room,” Vince says. He’s not having this discussion. Not with _Mathieu Monfils_ of all people.

“Not until you talk.”

“Since when do you fucking care anyway?” Vince snaps. His hands are shaking and he crosses his arms to hide it. “It’s not a big deal—”

“It was Zielinski, wasn’t it?”

Vince sighs and runs his hand over his face. “It’s not Jacob,” he says, because really, it isn’t. It’s his own fucking fault. He’s learned his lesson with Jacob, and there won’t be another incident. It’s awful, but he knows Jacob didn’t _really_ do anything wrong.

“Come on, Safinov. Everyone knows you let that sleeze fuck you.”

Vince feels his eyebrows raise at the direct attack. “I wasn’t aware that it was common knowledge,” he says. “And if it _were_ true, don’t you think I got what I deserved?”

He doesn’t think Mathieu would look more surprised if he’d outright slapped him, which is oddly gratifying.

The shock only lasts a moment before Mathieu’s expression hardens again. “Did he rape you?”

It’s Vince’s turn to be stunned. He didn’t imagine that Mathieu would have asked him so directly. Maybe that’s why he says, “No,” even though he doesn’t really mean to answer.

“If you could see yourself right now…”

“He didn’t,” Vince assures. Mathieu doesn’t look convinced. “Really.” He runs a hand through his hair, and it catches on some of the product in it.

“Are you sure?”

“I put his dick in my ass, so yeah, pretty sure he didn’t rape me,” Vince bites back, because that question was _idiotic_. “He just… said some shit that didn’t really do it for me. That’s all,” he says, the anger going as fast as it came and _fuck_ , he doesn’t usually have mood swings like this. He doubles down because he wants this conversation over with, and if he can make Mathieu uncomfortable with details, he figures it’ll be over much faster. “So I got fucked but didn’t get to get off, so forgive me if I’m a little grumpy.”

Mathieu doesn’t really look like he believes Vince, but Vince is out of ideas, and he’s not really happy to have admitted that much.

“You know, I know several girls that he’s… forced himself on.”

Vince rolls his eyes. “He’s not that fucking careless. I didn’t get this job because I fuck him, and he didn’t rape me, so that’s all. Can I go back to my room?”

Mathieu seems to deflate, and he throws the deadbolt on the door, then steps aside.

Before Vince can pull it open, Mathieu puts his hand on the door and meets his eyes. “If there’s anything I can do…”

“Unless you want me to ride your cock till I get off properly, there’s really nothing,” he snaps, reaching for the handle again. This time, Mathieu interrupts him by putting his hand on Vince’s.

“Would that really help?” he asks when Vince turns to stare at him. The question is sincere, which is bizarre, because Vince is pretty sure he knows who most of the male models that swing both ways are. He’s never heard a whisper of Mathieu being interested in guys, Frenchman or no.

“No offense, but I’m not interested in popping your homosexual cherry tonight,” Vince says.

“I’ve fucked guys before.” Vince gives him a look, and he sighs and says, “I’ve fucked a guy before.”

“I don’t need a pity fuck.”

“No pity,” Mathieu says.

“You don’t even like me,” Vince feels it necessary to point out.

“I don’t like how much you fuck around,” Mathieu says it like a correction. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

“No one who doesn’t fuck me likes me,” Vince says.

“I would actually argue there are a number of people who fuck you that don’t like you, just think you’re hot and a good lay.”

Vince stares. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult.”

Mathieu scratches his nose, so Vince doesn’t think he does either. “Look, let me give you my number, just in case.”

“In case _what_?” Vince asks.

“In… case you need anything. I can do anything for you.”

“I’ll pass,” Vince says, grabbing the handle, and this time Mathieu has the grace to back off.

“The offer stands. If you need anything tonight… you know where to find me.”

Vince just shoves past and goes to his own room, but he can feel Mathieu’s eyes on him until he closes his own door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note (this shouldn't have to be said), but what Jacob did probably isn't legally rape. Probably sexual assault? But it's in no way okay, and just because it probably wasn't technically rape doesn't mean it isn't terrible or that it's in any way acceptable (especially given his history sleeping with Vince when he was underage, regardless of where the they may have been that might have made the age of consent 16). Vince is fucked up enough to blame himself for Jacob's bad behavior. It's meant to demonstrate _how_ messed up Vince's relationship with and perception of sex is. Vince defending him in any way is also meant to show how messed up he is. Keep in mind that Vince's perceptions are _his_ perceptions. That said, everyone reacts to sexual assault differently, and some people do it with sex (as counterintuitive as that may seem). That's clearly how Vince has dealt with it in the past and continues to deal with it. 
> 
> I don't feel like these disclaimers are as necessary on _Prepared_ because the whole framework makes everything dubious consent at best and it's so much more obviously a fantasy, but this feels a little more like this could actually happen, so, disclaimer. Seriously, don't ever justify or defend someone who treats you like that unless you explicitly detailed that you want to be treated like that.


	2. Accepting an Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can’t _believe_ he’s actually standing in front of Mathieu’s door.

Vince throws the deadbolt on his door, then takes out his wallet and phone, tossing them on the desk with the key cards. He can still hear Jacob’s words in his ears, still feel the weight of him on his back, so he goes to the bathroom and turns on the shower, cranking it up as hot as it’ll go. He strips out of his clothing and drops them into a corner. They’ll go into the dirty-laundry part of his bag. He’s not going to have a chance to wash them before he leaves. At least tomorrow he’s going back to the states for a few weeks.

He checks his ass in the mirror because it still aches. It’s red, and when he feels it, he suspects it really is bruised. Of course he has like an eight-hour flight to look forward to tomorrow.

The mirror is fogging over, so he goes over to get in, not turning it down. In his experience, most hotel showers don’t get hot enough to scald. It’s hot enough to sting when he gets in, but by the time his hair is soaked through, it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He still feels cold under his skin, still can hear Jacob’s voice bouncing around inside his head with another, older, more hated voice.

_“Hey, baby girl. It’s all good. I’m gonna make you feel real good in your little pussy.”_

He shivers despite the heat of the water, pushing the older memory away, reminding himself of the difference between Jacob and… _him_. Jacob had gone too far, yes, but Vince knows rape. He remembers how it felt to be held down and fucked until he cried and screamed. This is bad, but it’s miles from that.

He forces himself to take care of his hair first. It’s past the point that he wants to cut it, but employers seem to love it long. Wet, it’s down past his pecs. The shampoo gets all the crap out of his hair, but he uses the whole little conditioner bottle to stretch his personal travel one. While letting the conditioner do its work, he finally moves on to scrubbing himself down.

The impulse to scrub until he feels clean is strong, but he knows this feeling. He knows that it’s in his mind and that no amount of scrubbing will make it go away. Nothing will make it better except time.

Still, he feels filth on his skin and cold under it, and the shower isn’t fixing either feeling.

He rinses the conditioner out of his hair and makes himself get out of the shower before he scrubs himself raw. He makes his living on his appearance—he can’t afford to harm himself.

He dries off quickly, digs out his favorite oversized sweatshirt—soft and cuddly, the one that makes him feel like he was being hugged—and pulls out a pair of sweatpants. He sits on the end of the bed, and hisses as he does, ass definitely aching, as he towels his hair, trying to get the bulk of the water out. He lays back, taking the weight off his ass, and sighs, knowing he’d skipped something in the shower. He turns over onto his stomach and slides a hand down the back of his pants, between his battered cheeks, and feels around his entrance. The entrance is sensitive, but it’s a normal sensitive, the kind that makes his cock stir when teased. Even now, feeling like he does, the pads of his fingers clinically feeling it out is enough to start turning him on.

He really is a total ass whore.

He pauses to grab a box of cheap tissues and puts them on the bed next to him before he puts his hand back down his pants and slips a finger inside. It goes in easily, and he feels around gently. It feels like it always does, though a knuckle rubs against a spot that seems a little more tender than usual. When he pulls his finger out, he wipes it on a tissue and is relieved that it’s completely clear. No sign of blood.

Except now, despite what happened earlier, he’s kind of turned on. He _had_ planned to get laid, and no matter how badly that had turned out, his body had been primed and readied, then denied. He isn’t in the mood to pull out any toys or twist himself into a pretzel just to finger himself. Being finger fucked always leaves him feeling unsatisfied. It just isn’t the same as feeling the warmth and weight of a cock opening him…

…Fuck. He’s really turned on now.

He groans and rolls onto his back. He should just climb under the covers and try to sleep, but between the Jacob’s lingering memory and his new arousal, he can tell it will be a long time coming.

Mathieu’s face comes to mind, how sincerely he’d offered his help. Vince groans—and not a sexy one.

* * *

He can’t _believe_ he’s actually standing in front of Mathieu’s door. Can’t believe he’s _really_ considering knocking on it. Mathieu doesn’t do guys, and Vince really isn’t in the mood to walk someone through everything. Then again, he’s still stretched enough from Jacob he probably doesn’t actually need much—if any—prep. Just some extra lube, a condom, and a hard dick attached to someone who’s doesn’t say anything that isn’t, “yes,” “more,” or “fuck,” Vince would be pretty happy.

He sighs and knocks. He steps back when the door is yanked open with force. Mathieu looks a little frantic, but he quickly gathers himself, leaning against the frame, trying to look cool. Vince has to bite back a grin, because it’s _so_ model face, and he can see right through it.

“Safinov,” Mathieu says, going for neutral and missing it by a mile. It’s actually sort of adorable.

“Monfils,” he returns, somehow managing not to smile. “Do you mind if I come in?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Mathieu, opens the door all the way and extends an arm to invite Vince in. Vince catches the door as it starts automatically closing, and takes the invitation at face value. Mathieu lets the door close behind him, and throws the deadbolt before he follows Vince in. Vince goes straight to the window. It’s nothing special—could be one of a thousand random European cities he’s traveled to, but it gives him a minute to gather himself.

“Earlier,” he says, then forces himself to turn and face Mathieu, because if he’s going to ask a guy to fuck him, the least he can do is face him. “Did you mean it, when you said you’d… you’d fuck me, if that would make it better?” he asks.

He can see Mathieu’s throat move as he swallows, but he can also see his pupils dilate—those ice blue eyes hiding nothing—so he’s not totally disinterested. “Would it help?” he asks, but he doesn’t move toward Vince, keeping a respectful distance.

Vince takes the first steps toward Mathieu. Vince is tall, but not crazy tall, and Mathieu has at least a couple inches on him. He prefers to be with taller men for no good reason other than he only prefers to be the tall one if he’s with a woman. “Would I be here if I didn’t think it would?” he asks.

“What do you need?” Mathieu asks, taking another step closer, into Vince’s space but not touching him.

Taking the last step to close the distance between them, Vince leans up slightly to murmur into Mathieu’s ear. “I need to ride you.” He feels Mathieu’s sharp inhale as much as hear it, and he puts a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to let me drive. Need you to fuck me deep, stretch me with your dick.” His hand moves up to Mathieu’s neck, and he can feel his pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips even as he shifts back a little so he can look Mathieu in the eyes as he murmurs, “Make me come on your dick without ever touching mine,” against his lips.

Vince rarely makes the first move in sex with men. He honestly doesn’t usually make the first move with women either. But once an invitation has been issued—regardless of words or actions—Vince has a hard time turning it down. He likes sex, likes losing his mind and likes making his partners lose theirs. He doesn’t see why he should turn down open offers if they’re sincere and there are no strings. Still, there’s something to be said for the rush he gets when he can see he’s getting under someone’s skin.

“ _Mon Dieu_ ,” Mathieu says, voice shaky. He’s hard and his sleep pants are a thin enough barrier that Vince can feel him across the sliver-thin distance between them.

“Do you want that, _Mathieu_?” he purrs his name across his lips, brushing them as if by accident.

“ _Oui_ , please _, oui_. Yes.”

“That boy you fucked… did you kiss him?” Vince asks, walking him back the few steps to the bed. When he bumps into it, Vince doesn’t let him fall.

“Yes,” Mathieu says.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“ _Yes_.”

Vince pushes him this time, then follows him down, straddling him on the bed and bending down to kiss him. Mathieu has thin lips, but he knows how to kiss, and he doesn’t know how not to be in charge. It’s actually exactly what Vince needs. They make out and rub up against each other, letting their hands travel and feel for long minutes, both losing their shirts. Vince is fit, his stomach flat enough and developed enough that a little flex is all he needs to show off a six-pack. Mathieu is _ripped_ , and, okay, yeah, it turns Vince on to run his knuckles over those washboard abs.

He pulls back enough to say, “Gotta get you naked and in me.”

Mathieu laughs, and it changes his face from something beautiful but untouchable to something warmer. Vince realizes he’s never seen Mathieu smile for real—it’s a really, really good look on him. He pushes on Mathieu’s chest to shove him flat on the bed as he gets off. He pulls the lube packet and condom out of his pocket before he drops his own pants to the floor. The heat in Mathieu’s eyes reassures him that—despite hiding it well—he does appreciate the male form. Vince doesn’t give him long to enjoy before he bends to yank off Mathieu’s pants. He’s annoyed when he finds boxer briefs underneath, no matter how prettily they’re tented.

Still, he hesitates with his fingertips under the band before stripping them off. He meets Mathieu’s eyes. “Okay?” he asks.

“Fuck yes,” Mathieu says enthusiastically, lifting his hips so Vince can pull them off, before scooting himself up the bed, until his head is propped by pillows. “Like this?” he asks, stroking his member. To Vince’s relief, while he’s not what Vince would consider a “big boy,” he’s amply endowed, and, maybe most importantly, he’s bigger than Jacob. He’ll get deeper, stretch places that haven’t been stretched tonight, and it’s exactly what Vince was hoping for.

“Exactly like that,” Vince assures, climbing after him, keeping his movements slinky and his eyes locked on Mathieu’s. He stops when he gets above Mathieu’s length, pausing to lap at the head; it leaks a little pre, which only encourages him to do it again. Mathieu groans and mutters something in French, but Vince doesn’t catch it and doesn’t care if he can’t understand it.

“Don’t fuckin’ tease,” Mathieu says, and he sounds a little desperate.

That’s okay. Vince doesn’t want to tease. He sits back just long enough to grab the condom, grateful it’s the right size. Vince might be a slut, but he’s neurotic about protection. It’s pre-lubed, so he slides it down and makes sure it’s settled before sliding up to sit on Mathieu’s hips, feeling his length rub between his cheeks. “Hands on hips or legs—not on the ass,” he says. “And no dirty talk, please.”

Mathieu nods and settles his hands on Vince’s hips. “You’re driving,” he says.

Vince smiles as he kneels up, reaching behind him to find Mathieu’s dick. He positions it, and teases himself for a few seconds before beginning to sink down. He’s got spare lube if it’s needed, but he goes slow. He’s stretched enough, but it’s a close enough thing that so going slow is necessary. Besides, there is nothing like that final stretch as he’s opened by a cock. When he meets Mathieu’s hips, he throws his head back and savors the feeling, achingly hard. Mathieu’s hands have a tiny tremble as he runs them up Vince’s sides, then down to the sensitive insides of his thighs.

Feeling his body loosen up, he raises up and drops back down, testing. He sighs with the feeling and looks at Mathieu. “Doing okay?” he asks.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Mathieu breathes out like a prayer. Vince smiles at him and rolls his hips, and _oh, yes_. That’s lovely.

“Speak for yourself,” Vince tells him. He puts his hands on those enviable abs and begins to move. Even though his ass hurts when it connects with Mathieu’s thighs, the depth evens it out, giving him that balance where the pain enhances the pleasure rather than overshadowing it. He shifts slightly, and catches his prostate dead on, and gasps out, “Fuck, yes.”

“ _C’est bon_?” Mathieu asks, adding his own hip roll, hitting that place again.

“ _More_ ,” Vince demands, meeting Mathieu’s eyes. He sits up, pulling Vince tight against him, and Vince’s dick rubbing against those washboard abs, paired with Mathieu nailing his prostate like he’s got some special homing power forces Vince to simply cling to him and go along for the ride.

“Come for me, _beau_ ,” Mathieu murmurs into his neck as his hips start jackhammering. A last, hard thrust nails him exactly right, and Vince cums. He gasps as aftershocks tremble through him while Mathieu rides out his own orgasm, holding him tightly, as if he were precious. He knows it’s just really good sex—and maybe because Mathieu is French—but it finally chases the cold from under his skin. Mathieu strokes every bare bit of skin he can, arms, neck, back, sides, thighs. He lifts his head and captures Vince’s lips between breaths, the kisses gentle and sweet now. 

“Thank you,” Vince tells him.

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Mathieu returns, still stroking his back. “Though you might need another shower,” he suggests, peeling their chests apart.

“Worth it,” Vince tells him, falling to the side in a boneless heap, watching lazily as Mathieu removes the condom and then uses tissues to wipe his chest. He chuckles, looking at Vince with a fondness that Vince has never seen from him.

“Yes, it most certainly was.” He tosses the condom and tissues in a vague direction that Vince assumes a trash can is in, then reaches over and runs his hands through Vince’s half-dry hair. “You look much better.”

Vince closes his eyes, because having someone play with his hair is one of his favorite things. “Good sex tends to have that effect,” he admits with a sigh. “And if you keep doing that, I’m going to fall asleep right here.”

“You are like a kitten. Has anyone told you that?”

“Nope,” Vince replies, forcing himself to sit up. The comforter rubs against his ass, and he hisses.

“Are you okay?” Mathieu asks, immediately alarmed. “I thought you needed more… Pre—preparation?”

“Not the problem,” Vince says, getting off the bed. When he stands, he sees that Mathieu still looks concerned, so he bends over, wraps a hand around the back of Mathieu’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. “You did not hurt me, okay? You gave me exactly what I needed.” He presses another soft kiss to Mathieu’s lips, then adds, “Thank you. Sincerely.”

Mathieu doesn’t look wholly convinced, but the pinched look fades from his features.

“You can use my shower,” he says.

Vince gives him a final quick kiss, and says, “Just need five.” He pops into the bathroom, runs a washcloth under the faucet and uses it to clean the cum and excess lube away. He probably does need another shower, but he’s too tired, and his mind is finally blissfully clear.

He startles when Mathieu steps into the doorway wearing his sweatpants, but that’s all. Vince wrings the washcloth out over the sink, then drops it into a pile of dirty towels on the floor. Mathieu is frowning again. “I said you could take a shower.”

“I’ll probably fall asleep five minutes in,” Vince says, and he notices that Mathieu’s eyes are on his ass. His still red, and probably turning purple in places, ass. “Don’t,” he says.

“He—”

Vince steps into his space and leans up to kiss his cheek. “Don’t. Please.”

Mathieu huffs and crosses his arms. “You shouldn’t protect him.”

“If he had really done something wrong instead of something I just didn’t like, I wouldn’t. It just got out of hand. And please do not kill my buzz.”

Mathieu’s eyebrows raised. “Your buzz?”

“You know, that empty, happy place your brain goes after good sex? I really like that place. Don’t kill it, please?”

He sighs but nods. “But give me your number. If you ever need help or someone crosses a line—”

“Go get your phone, and I’ll give you my number.”

“And you will _call me_ if you need it.”

Vince rolls his eyes, following him so he can get dressed again while he digs around for his phone and unlocks it. When Mathieu hands it to him, it already has a contact started. Vince puts his number and his email in, then hands it back.

“Texting you now, so you have my number,” Mathieu says, but Vince’s phone is in his room, so he won’t know it went through till he goes back. “You know… you’re welcome to stay.”

Vince pulls his shirt back on and smiles. “Got an early morning,” he says, going to him, putting a hand on his bare chest and leaning up for a final kiss. “But thank you. Really.”

He moves to go past him, but Mathieu’s hand on his hip, makes him pause. “You are something else, Vincent Safinov,” he says.

“Vince,” he corrects. “Only strangers call me Vincent.”

“Vince,” Mathieu corrects, something kind in his eyes that Vince has never seen. He reaches up and brushes a long, dark bang back from Mathieu’s face.

“Good night, Mathieu.”

“Good night, Vince.”


	3. Meeting the Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, he’s hot,” she comments, and Vince laughs. “Wait, I feel like I’ve seen this guy before.”
> 
> “Mathieu Monfils,” Vince supplies the name.
> 
> “Wait, I thought you said he was a jerk?”
> 
> Vince tilts his head from side-to-side. “Less of a jerk than I thought. And I draw jerks.”
> 
> “Not very often, you don’t.”

The flight home sucks exactly as much as expected. Vince resolves to never accept an invitation to sex with Jacob again. No matter how far their history goes back, he’s not risking worse in the future. It’s not his MO to turn down anyone, but this time, he means it.

Vince grabs the mail when he gets home, since he probably beat Amelie home from class. He’s going to take a long, lazy shower, then laze the rest of the afternoon. He needs to stay up until at least ten or the jetlag is going to drag on for days.

His ass is still sore, but when he looks up some basic aftercare, he doesn’t have anything suggested on hand, and he’s a little too proud to go and buy something for it. He settles for his softest pair of sweatpants, and steals a pillow from his room to add to the couch to make it softer. He does it often enough that Amelie will just call him a weirdo for it.

By the time Amelie gets home, he’s curled up on the couch, the Food Network on TV for background noise while most of his attention is on his sketch pad.

“You’re home!” she says, delighted.

“You knew I would be,” he tells her, amused, but he’s smart enough to set his sketchpad aside for when she throws herself at him, hugging him so tightly, he can barely breathe. She gives the best hugs. Vince returns it just a hair less tight.

When she lets go, she immediately goes for his sketchpad. “What did you draw while you were gone?” she asks, flipping through it. Vince is used to it, which is why he tries to never draw anything overtly sexual. “Oh, you should paint this!” she tells him.

He glances over to see which one she likes. It was an image that stuck in his head while clowning around at downtime on a shoot. It was his first time meeting Caroline Ieyasu, but in an industry with an overabundance of too-beautiful people, she had stood out to him. He loved her freckles, the deep auburn hair woven in a thousand tiny braids, her large, dark, soulful eyes. She had a face made to smile, and the kind of smile that you could only return. In the sketch, her face is upturned, caught in laughter, as flower petals rain down around her.

“Maybe,” he says, but he doesn’t really intend to. He loves to sketch, can’t resist doing it, and even he can admit, he’s decent, maybe even good, but pencil is his primary medium. Despite Amelie’s opinion, he’s never been very satisfied with the paintings he’s done. Good oils are too expensive for him to be willing to shell out the money to dabble in them. Acrylic is cheaper, so he doesn’t mind messing with it from time-to-time, but there’s always that place inside of him that remembers the days before he got his first modeling break, remembers even after getting it, watching the money from it evaporate to pay his dad’s hospital and treatment bills.

He’s in demand enough that he’s comfortable, but modeling can be weird, and there’s a little voice in the back of Vince’s head that reminds him that he has no marketable skills beyond his pretty face. Splurging on expensive oils just seems… a waste, especially when he has Amelie’s school to pay for. She’s smart and hardworking, and she got a lot of help from grants and scholarships, but they don’t cover everything, and they don’t cover day-to-day living expenses. He one indulgence are his colored pencils, but he keeps an eye out for them on sale.

“You have a bunch of that same girl,” Amelie notices, continuing to flip through.

He shrugs. “Her face is unique. She’s fun to draw,” he admits.

“She looks kind.”

“She is.” Unusually so, actually. He wouldn’t say that everyone in his industry is a self-involved bitch—male or female, the term applies—but there’s enough of them that the stereotype isn’t unwarranted. It did, however, make the ones who weren’t jaded or shallow stick out all the more. Caroline had a bubbly personality that you might expect with a face made for smiling. She had to have struggled in the industry in the beginning—too curvy and multicultural to be an obvious fit—but he got the impression that she found the whole industry amusing. It was an attitude that served her well since he hadn’t heard anyone say a bad thing about her.

Amelie flips to the last page, where Vince had been sketching Mathieu since he was top of mind. It's a bad habit of his to sketch the people he’d slept with—at least when they were other models—but he mixes in enough neutral parties that he doesn’t think Amelie realizes he does it.

“Oh, he’s hot,” she comments, and Vince laughs. “Wait, I feel like I’ve seen this guy before.”

“Mathieu Monfils,” Vince supplies the name.

“Wait, I thought you said he was a jerk?”

Vince tilts his head from side-to-side. “Less of a jerk than I thought. And I draw jerks.”

“Not very often, you don’t.”

Thinking back, Vince realizes she’s right. Unless he slept with them and realized they were jerks _after_ sleeping with them. Conversation isn’t always a requirement to get Vince in bed. He’s 100% guilty of agreeing because someone is pretty enough, and he works with a lot of people that meet that basic threshold. He can even think of a few he’s slept with before talking to them, because they were attractive enough, he didn’t want their personalities to spoil the chance.

He is _never_ telling Amelie that, though. She’s vaguely aware that he gets around, but she has no clue—or at least, he really hopes she has no clue—how much he really gets around… and how not picky he is.

“I don’t know why you watch the Food Network—it’s not like you can cook to save your life,” she says, handing his sketchpad back and getting up.

“I resemble that remark!” he complained.

“By the way, Connery is coming to dinner tonight,” she adds.

Vince blinks and follows her to the kitchen. “And Connery is…” Vince is a serial slut, but his sister is a serial dater. She’s beautiful and smart, so she can pick up a guy at the drop of a hat, but she loses interest quickly—usually, thankfully, before they make it to the bedroom. With as much as he travels and as long as he’s often out of town, it’s not unheard of for her to go through multiple guys before he gets home.

“My _boyfriend_ ,” she says, glaring over her shoulder, like he should know.

“You actually upgraded someone to boyfriend?” he asks, surprised. Usually it’s just, “someone I met” or “the guy I’m dating.” She did date a couple girls, just to try it out, but she said she didn’t want a girlfriend who’s trying to be a man. Vince tried to tell her that there were plenty of lesbians who weren’t butch out there, and if she really wanted to try dating a woman, she should maybe consider lesbians who weren’t walking stereotypes, but she just shrugged him off, so he thinks that it’s probably less a case of not finding butch lesbians attractive than just not being sexually attracted to women period.

“I’ve been dating Connery for three months!” she snaps, staring at him incredulously.

In his defense, he’s been traveling for most of that time. He had pretty much been going almost nonstop since early March, and he thinks he can be forgiven for forgetting about a guy she probably last mentioned to him in February. “Really?” he asks. “Why haven’t you talked about him more?”

She turns back to pulling out bowls and pans, rather more noisily than necessary as he gets up and follows her to the kitchen. “It’s just… Connery is different.”

He comes to a stop next to her, goes to lean against the counter before thinking better of it. “Different how?” he asks.

“He’s a gentleman,” she huffs at him. “And… I don’t know. He’s serious. He’s in med school.”

Vince raises an eyebrow. “Those hours are going to suck,” he tells her, and he knows something about sucky hours.

“It’s not like we’re engaged or anything!” she snaps.

He narrows his eyes at her. “You really like this guy.”

“He’s not just some guy,” she tells him, taking their big pasta pot and filling it with water. “I know it’s hard to believe, but yes, I really like him. So _please_ don’t be an asshole just to see how he deals with it.”

Amelie didn’t bring a lot of her dates home to meet him, but when she did, he wasn’t usually an asshole to them. He was probably, arguably, worse, because he comes onto them. Vince knows what he looks like; he makes his living off of it after all, and even straight guys are usually curious about anal sex. In Vince’s experience, they’re surprisingly willing to give a no-strings fuck with a guy a try if it means they get to fuck someone’s ass and don’t have to touch dick to do it. That Vince is pretty enough to convincingly pass as a girl with relatively little work is a bonus. So he usually propositions the guys Amelie brings home. An unfortunate side effect of her flighty dating history is that she tends to bring home guys who aren’t all that serious either, and they’re usually pretty willing to at least take a tumble with Vince. At which point, Vince tells them, with absolute clarity, that they have no business anywhere near his sister unless they want her to know they were willing to fuck him while they were dating her. So far, no one had tattled, and Amelie just thought he was an overprotective asshole. He could live with that.

“No promises,” he tells her.

“Please, Vitya.”

He glares because using Dad’s nickname for him is a dirty rotten trick. “Don’t try that,” he tells her. “No guy you’ve known for three months should be worth trying that trick on me with.”

“I’ve known him for two years, we just have been dating for three months,” she tells him.

“Two _years_?” he asks, because this is… very out of character. Amelie doesn’t date friends. Friends and romantic interests are very firmly separated for her much in the way that Vince separates his lays from his few friends.

“Yes, and yes, I really like him. So I’m asking you again, _please_ don’t be an asshole.”

“No promises.”

“He is a good guy.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You do realize I’m an adult, right?”

He ruffles her hair and gets an indignant shriek out of her. “Not till I’m not footing your bills you’re not,” he tells her before going back to the couch, keeping it flippant. He does kind of mean it, but at the same time, she is an adult, and he doesn’t want her to try and scrape through on her own.

“Jerk!” she turns to yell at him.

“Love you too, Mel.”

She sticks out her tongue, but he can tell she’s trying not to smile.

* * *

Connery is, not surprisingly, a very good-looking guy. He’s not model-beautiful, but he’s got an honest, kind face, nicely symmetrical features, and good skin. Brown hair cut in an everyday Joe style, he’d be almost forgettably mundane if not for those almost navy eyes. They kind of pull people in, and he has an overall sense of control and confidence that makes him more attractive than his features alone would account for.

So he can see the appeal. Connery seems the reliable type who would do well as a doctor. He’s very different from the guys that Amelie usually dates too. He shakes Vince’s hand very seriously when they’re introduced. He doesn’t even give Vince a onceover, and he hadn’t realized how used to that he was until he _didn’t_ get it.

Very, _very_ different than any guy she’s ever brought home before.

“Connery, you’re here early!” Amelie says, greeting him with a quick peck. His whole face lights up when he looks at her.

“I got out of class early,” he explains, and all of his attention is centered on her. “I also brought dessert,” he said, lifting a bag to show her.

“That was so unnecessary, but thank you!” she said. “Wait—is this the—”

“Salty caramel mille crepe we had at Patisserie Tomoko? Yes, yes, it is,” Connery said. So, not only is his name snooty, he comes from money too.

“You _shouldn’t_ have. That’s so—”

“You loved it. It was worth it.”

Amelie blushes very prettily, and Vince tries to remember the last time she’d been that demure.

“Let me put this in the fridge. Dinner will be ready in in about twenty minutes—”

“But only if we stay out of her way,” Vince interrupts, putting a hand on Connery’s shoulder. “We’ve got a surprisingly good view from our balcony, and it’s a beautiful evening.” It is vaguely phrased as a suggestion, but it isn’t, and Connery, smart boy that he is, seems to realize it.

“Be nice!” Amelie hisses at him.

“I’m always nice,” he shoots back, then escorts Connery outside.

“This is a rather nice view,” Connery comments, surprised.

Vince leans on the railing, looking over their little piece of the city. “Pretty good for an urban view,” he admits.

Connery leans on the railing next to him, and says, “Is this where you try to scare me away?” he asks, startling Vince. Connery gives him a half-apologetic smile. “Amelie warned me that you’ve chased away every guy she’s ever brought home.”

She warned him? That’s annoying. Vince props an elbow on the rail and his chin on a fist to turn and look at Connery. “She tell you how I do it?” he asks.

“Nope. She said she didn’t know what you said, just that you were mean and usually made her dates extremely uncomfortable, and those dates would usually be the last.” For someone who has heard that, he doesn’t seem very concerned. “So hit me with your worst.”

Vince gives him a long hard look, then drops his hand and looks back over the city. “Nope.”

“Nope?”

“Nah. No point,” Vince tells him, a little annoyed because it's the truth.

“No point?”

“If I told you that I wanna push you right over there, where Amelie won’t be able to see us, and blow you, what would you say?” he asks, and he has to admit that he’s an asshole, because he totally gets a kick out of the gobsmacked look on Connery’s face.

“ _Excuse me_?” he asks, and he looks downright offended.

Vince grins at him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Are you seriously telling me you offer to blow her dates regularly?”

“Please,” Vince snorts. “A blow job isn’t enough enticement for most of them. A chance to fuck me, on the other hand…”

Connery stands straight up, and he looks like he could happily throttle Vince. “I think I’ll keep Amelie—”

Vince reaches out and grabs his shirt. “Oh, chill out. I was pretty sure that’s how you would react, which is why I gave you the hypothetical and not the full seduction game. For the record, I’d prefer you don’t share that with Mel.”

“You really just… _seduce_ her dates? And that _works_?” Judging by the look on his face, he can’t decide if he’s more appalled at Vince’s tactic or at the fact it works.

“To be fair, you’re not her usual type. And, yes, it works.”

“What, do you just sleep with them and blackmail them to keep them away from Amelie?”

Vince snorts. “Please. I’d never actually sleep with anyone Amelie is seeing, no matter how casually. I just usually come onto them to see how they’ll react. Most of them leap at the opportunity to fuck me. More than _one_ suggested we have a threesome with Amelie. Which is gross, for the record. She's my _sister,_ " he says when he sees the concerned look on Connery's face. "Anyway, once they have said they want to fuck me, even though they’re supposed to be dating my sister, I tell them to take their cheating asses elsewhere.”

Connery stares at him like a puzzle whose pieces aren’t fitting. “But they’re dating Amelie,” he says.

“You’d be surprised by how flexible straight guys can be if the face is pretty enough. Amelie and I have been mistaken for twins our whole lives, even though I’m three years older. Besides, bragging rights—they banged a real, live model.” He rolls his eyes. “Let’s just say, Amelie’s usual type leaves a lot to be desired.”

Connery frowns at him. “But you said you weren’t going to try with me.” It’s almost a question, but not quite.

“You haven’t given me a second look since you walked in that door. Either you are honestly straight as a fucking line or you’re really smitten with my sister, or both. No matter which way you cut it, my usual trick clearly won’t be working, so, I guess you pass my test.”

It’s kind of a shame, because he’s not sure that he wouldn’t mind fucking this man, personal rule about not fucking guys Amelie is interested in aside. Ah, well. He supposes even he has to have some standard. Besides, Connery is still frowning at him like he can’t decide what he thinks of him.

“Amelie adores you, you know.”

“It’s mutual,” Vince tells him.

“I think she would be very disappointed if she knew how you usually chase away her boyfriends.”

“Her dates—let’s be clear here. You’re the first ‘boyfriend’”—he made air quotes around it—“she’s ever brought home. And I do a lot of shit she’d be disappointed in. It’s a big brother’s right to hide those things from his little sister.”

There’s quiet for a long moment before Connery says, “You know, Amelie is at least as beautiful as you are.” The compliment catches Vince off guard, but he can see it’s an academic comparison. “Why don’t you allow her to model? She told me you would be very angry if she did even any casual modeling.”

“Because unlike me, Amelie is smart. She’s way more than a pretty face, and she deserves to have a career that values her brain, not her appearance.”

“She’s very interested in it. She would be very good—”

“Of course she would,” Vince says dismissively. “She’s my sister. Do you know how easily I could get her serious jobs with my connections? Do you know how often people tell me it’s a shame I wasn’t born a woman? No agency in New York will approach her because they know I’ll lose my shit if they do, and I’m a big enough deal that it isn’t worth it.”

Now, Connery looks curious. “Then why not let her model? Even just as a sideline? Maybe she’ll decide she doesn’t like it.”

 _And maybe some smarmy photographer will rape her._ Rationally he knows it’s unlikely. Vince does have connections and power. He’s a favored model of some of the biggest brands in the world. The industry has changed since he started almost a decade ago—the kind of sexual harassment that he just… got used to isn’t nearly as prevalent or tolerated anymore. But he’s also seen how much being valued exclusively on your appearance fucks with people’s heads— _especially_ young women’s. “I just… I want something more stable for her,” he says. “She deserves that. I’m just a pretty face. Fuck only knows what I’d do if I wasn’t photogenic, because I got nothing else going for me. She’s too smart to just be a pretty face.”

“Amelie has shown me some of your art—you’re very gifted.”

Vince snorts. He can’t be angry about Amelie showing off his art because she has insisted on putting it up all over the damn apartment. “Oh, sure, because ‘starving artist’ is such an enticing lifestyle choice,” he says bitingly.

“There are plenty—”

“Not to interrupt this little pep talk, but I know what I am, okay? I don’t want Amelie to be in an industry that will consider her expired by the time she’s twenty-five. That will make her turn down the cake you brought because god-forbid she gains a pound. It’s… getting better, but it’s slow, and it’s not nearly as bad for guys as it is for women. It can be glitzy and glamorous, but… it’s not real.” He stared out over the city, listening to the sounds of the cars and the people drifting up. “A lot of the people aren’t either.”

“You’re afraid it would eat her up.”

“Not afraid—pretty damn sure. If I weren’t, I’d think about letting her do it, but I just… I want her to focus on having a life, a real life. One where she can support herself, where she has a Plan A and B and C to fall back on.”

Connery leaned back on the railing next to Vince. “Who would have thought? You’re actually a really good big brother.”

“You act like I give a shit about what you think of me.”

“Well, I don’t plan to go anywhere any time in the foreseeable future, so it would benefit us both to get along.”

Vince sighs but doesn’t argue.

* * *

The cake is sinful, and Vince greatly resents his phone ringing in the middle of it. Sometimes he swears his agent has a sixth sense for when Vince has really tossed his food plan out the window. He almost doesn’t answer because Andi calling _the day_ he gets home can’t be anything good.

But she will totally keep calling if he ignores her. “Excuse me,” he says, getting up and going to the balcony. “What do you want, Andi?” he asks rather than greeting.

“Good evening, Andi. How are you doing, Andi? How was your vacation, Andi?” she says cattily. “Do you have some amazing job lined up for me, Andi?”

“Andi,” he interrupts, mimicking her tone. “It’s supposed to be my week off before I have five back-to-back fashion weeks, so you better have a good reason for interrupting it.”

“Please,” she says, drawing out the word. “As if you’re doing anything more interesting than sitting on your couch, binging ‘Chopped’ and doodling this week.”

“Not the point, and you know it,” he tells her, getting irritated. “I need a recharge.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t want to say no to this one, and it’s even _local_ ,” she says.

“Really?” he says skeptically.

“Okay, it’s two hours outside the city, but it’s the next best thing,” she concedes.

“ _Andi_ …”

“It’s Yelizaveta Mldenovic,” she interrupts him.

He does not gasp because he is a professional and he has more control than that. “Okay, you have my attention,” he admits. Yelizaveta Mldenovic is probably the most renowned photographer he’s never worked with, and he loves her work, and Andi damn well knows it.

“She has a new series she’s working on, and her original model apparently hasn’t worked out. She saw the new Dior ad, and thought you would be perfect, and you _happen_ to be in town, so I told her people you would be delighted.”

Part of him wants to throw a fit at her for just saying yes on his vacation week, but another part of him is jumping up and down like a little kid, yelling _I get to do a Mldenovic series!_ at the top of its lungs.

“So, who is the bestest agent ever?” Andi asks him sweetly when he doesn't say anything.

“When is it?” he asks instead.

“It’s the day after tomorrow. Why else would I be calling you tonight? After you just got back in the states?” she asks. “I’m assuming you haven’t had time to make plans. You always are a lazy bum the first two days back, but I couldn’t risk you making plans for the day after.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Send me the details. I’ll be there,” he says.

“Of course you will. Even _you_ don’t turn down Yelizaveta Mldenovic.”

“Andi, when was the last time I turned down _anyone_?” he asks dryly.

“True,” she admits, because she’s his agent, and it’s her job to be aware of his reputation, and she knows how rarely his bed is empty. “Anyway, get your beauty rest, get over your jetlag, and be there by 9 a.m. I’m sending you all the deets.”

 _Who even actually says that?_ he wonders, not for the first time. But Andi is one of the best, and she does right by him. “Thanks, Andi.”

“You are so lucky you’re pretty, kid,” she says, but there's a subtle warmth in it. “Wouldn’t put up with that attitude of yours otherwise.”

“If I weren’t this pretty, I wouldn’t have the right to have an attitude,” he banters back, smiling at the familiar tease. “I’m going to go back to my diet-busting cake that Amelie’s boyfriend bought.”

“Don’t put on any weight before that shoot!” she scolds.

“I promise. I’ll do an extra hour tomorrow to make up for it,” he says, chuckling.

“You better,” she says. “They want you for a merman. All that pretty chest is going to be on display, so spend the time on your abs, beautiful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter with no sex! I know-- _scandalous_ isn't it? 
> 
> You know the Dior ad with Charlize Theron all in like a million shades of gold? I think Vince would fit right in that ad.


	4. Meeting Gareth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth can barely tear his eyes from Vincent Safinov. He remembers the boy—now man—vividly, though he doesn’t think the boy does. He was thirteen the last time Gareth had seen him nearly a decade ago. Then, he’d been a stunningly beautiful child. Now, he’s a siren made flesh, golden as if nature itself realized he needed to be gilt in her shades.

Despite his relaxed policy on sleeping around, Vince doesn’t exactly advertise. Most of the models he knows who get around as much as he does—and in a few cases, even _more_ —are arrogantly proud of fucking or being fucked by anything that walks. But everyone who gets around that much knows each other, mostly because they’ve slept with each other at some point, and they talk. Even if Vince would consider most of them acquaintances at best, they have their own little information circle. They know who the sleezy photographers, producers, and designers are, know the brands and agencies that protect them, and know the ones that won’t tolerate them. And if anyone’s kinky, it’s their little group that knows about it.

Yelizaveta Mldenovic isn’t _kinky_ per say, but her photography generally walks that very fine line between provocative and outright eroticism. She also has a reputation for selecting very compatible models. She certainly doesn’t require or demand actual sex from her models, but he’s heard enough rumors of shoots devolving into threesomes or moresomes at their end that he kind of goes to the shoot expecting to get laid. He’s more than a little relieved that the two days was enough for his ass to heal.

When he arrives at the small mansion, he’s met by an actual butler at the door and shown through a long hall of art that he would love to stop and admire.

When he says as much, the butler turns and says, “I will let Ms. Yelizaveta know. I’m sure once the shoot is complete, she’d be happy to give you a personal tour.”

“I couldn’t—” Vince starts to say, but the butler cuts him off.

“She will not do it if it is an imposition. She loves to share her art with those that appreciate it,” he says smoothly, and Vince knows there’s no winning against that tone.

“I would be honored, then, if she is able,” he says.

The butler glances over his shoulder, and Vince thinks he sees a spark of approval in his eye before he’s lead into a beautiful atrium.

It looks like something out of a fairytale, exotic, beautiful plants climbing everywhere, a hidden grotto.

The first time Vince gets a look at Yelizaveta Mldenovic in person, she’s rushing toward him like an overeager child. She has a mass of fine, frizzy graying hair that is probably down past her thighs when straightened but haloes her head like a strangely graceful storm cloud. A model in her own youth, Vince can still see the structure in her fine features, the perfect proportion of her nose, the generous mouth that seemed to stretch across her whole face when she smiled. She’s tall, almost as tall as Vince, though she’s gained some generous curves in the years since she’s stopped modeling. They make her feel solid and implacable, which is a strange contrast against the storm of hair that flies around her.

She takes Vince’s chin in a long-fingered hand, but it’s a curiously gentle touch, and Vince is used to being manhandled. “Well, well, look at you,” she says, and her hazel eyes dance with pleasure as she turns his face to get a look at all the angles of his features. “I’ve had you on my list to do a shoot for years, but it seems that it was a matter of the finding the right project,” she says, dropping her hand. “Your eyes are really, truly… exceptional,” she breathes, and the satisfaction oozes from her like they’d just had particularly good sex. “You are absolutely perfect.”

“I’m glad I’m able to accommodate you,” he tells her honestly. “I’m a fan of your work.”

“Mr. Safinov seems to be a fan of art,” the butler volunteers. “He was quite interested in the paintings in the entryway. Perhaps you would like to give him a tour of them later—”

“I couldn’t,” he tries again.

“I heard that you are always sketching,” she interrupts, silencing him. “Are you an artist yourself?” she asks.

He’s blushing. That’s new. He honestly did not know he could still do that. He’s almost never starstruck anymore, and shame was left behind years ago. Apparently his honest admiration of Mldenovic’s work is enough to be embarrassed by her interest. “Hardly,” he says. “Just… like to keep my hands busy.”

She’d be easy to dismiss as flighty or scattered, with the hair and the figure, the oversized jewelry that decorates her hands and neck and ankles, and the flimsy, gossamer dress that’s almost an elaborate poncho. But Yelizaveta Mldenovic didn’t get to where she is in the fashion and art worlds by being stupid, and Vince can see the keen intelligence in her eyes. 

“Do you have your sketchbook with you?” she asks, her eyes noticing his messenger bag. He brings it to every shoot because there’s so much hurry-up-and-wait on shoots and he does like to keep his hands busy. Most photographers are reasonable about it as long as he’s not waiting for a shot. They seem to prefer it over a phone.

The thought of someone of her caliber looking at his doodles makes him want to be sick. He clutches the strap of his bag, but admits, “I do.”

She hums thoughtfully, looking at him as if she can look through him. “I don’t think you’ll have a lot of down time today,” she warns.

“That’s fine. I don’t always need it. It’s just in case,” he says.

She nods as if she’s decided something then says, “Well, in return for allowing me to review your sketches, I’ll give you a personal tour of the art in the entryway once the shoot is complete.” She says it as if they had discussed it and decided it together.

Vince wants that private tour. Letting her see his mediocre sketches seems a small price to pay for it, so he says, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“So polite,” she says, like a curious observation. “None of that ‘ma’am’ nonsense with me. Call me Liz.” She holds out her hand to him.

“Vince,” he tells her and gives her his best smile as he takes her hand.

She fans herself. “Just don’t flash that smile where nuns and priests could see it and molest you, and we should be just fine,” she tells him, and he laughs.

* * *

Vince has been sitting in the makeup chair for over an hour when he hears Caroline Ieyasu calling his name.

He looks over from where he’s being made up.

“Don’t move,” Zach, the makeup artist, tells him.

“Do you also know Sacsha?” Caroline asks, coming over to him, another man with her. He glances out of the corner of his eye. He does, in fact, know Sacsha Antonelli. He is a strikingly, traditionally handsome man, well-proportioned in a way that doesn’t make his six-six height obvious until you’re next to him. He’s a blond, too, but unlike Vince’s yellow-gold hair, his is dustier, browner, with red undertones, just long enough on top to style but not long. He has a strong brow and eyes that are a little bit small, so their intense blue is often hidden.

Vince doesn’t actually remember sleeping with Sacsha that well because they’d both been pretty drunk at the time—yay for lax European drinking laws—but he likes him well enough that’s it a pleasure to see him.

“Nice to see you again,” Sacsha says, and he already has a little heat in his eyes, so Vince thinks maybe Sascha wasn’t as drunk as Vince was.

“You all know each other,” Liz says, coming over to join them. “Even better. Zach, darling, give me a moment.”

Zach gives an exaggerated pout, but he stops so Vince can give Liz his full attention. Behind her is a man he’s not sure he’s ever met. He’s good-looking in a conventional sort of way—strong nose, sharp brow, chiseled jaw, pale, but with dark brown, almost black hair. Vince can’t make out his eye color from where he’s standing, but he isn’t familiar to Vince.

“This is an old friend of mine, Gareth Delbonis. Gareth, Caroline, Sacsha, Zach, Arabelle, and Vince,” she introduces quickly.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” he says in a smooth, could-be-from-anywhere-USA accent, but there’s something about the precision of his words that makes Vince thinks he’s got money. Well, that and the multi-thousand-dollar suit he’s wearing as comfortably as some men wear a T-shirt and jeans. Vince has always had a weakness for a good voice, and this guy, Delbonis, definitely has one.

As the rest of the team give their greetings, Delbonis’s eyes never leave Vince, which is, okay, not _totally_ unusual, but Caroline and Sacsha are two of the most beautiful people in the business, so he should have _some_ competition.

“I know I don’t usually allow extraneous people on my shoots, but I hope you’ll all indulge me,” Liz says sweetly.

Caroline and Sacsha agree readily, and Vince is captured by Delbonis’s eyes. He’s moved in closer, and his eyes are ringed by thick, dark lashes, but they’re a dark Prussian blue behind those lashes, and maybe he understated how attractive Delbonis is. “That’s fine,” he hears himself say distantly, and forces himself to look away from Delbonis to Liz. “I’m not shy.”

Sacsha laughs, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining the intimate edge to it. “You are certainly not,” he says, the tiniest hint of German flavoring his speech.

Liz hurries Caroline and Sacsha into their own chairs to get their makeup going while Zach finishes Vince’s more elaborate pieces. Vince turns his head, following Zach’s instructions, but he would swear he can feel Delbonis’s eyes on him long after he and Liz have moved away.

* * *

Gareth can barely tear his eyes from Vincent Safinov. He remembers the boy—now man—vividly, though he doesn’t think the boy does. He was thirteen the last time Gareth had seen him nearly a decade ago. Then, he’d been a stunningly beautiful child. Now, he’s a siren made flesh, golden as if nature itself realized he needed to be gilt in her shades. He had been so close to being in Gareth’s hands once—his mother borrowing injudiciously from Gareth to cover her husband’s experimental treatments. She and her then-young son had worked themselves to the bone to make the bare payments on the loan, and Gareth had looked forward to the day he’d be able to reel the child in, make him _his_ in payment.

Then a modeling agency had discovered the child, and a series of successful ads had given them enough to keep up with the payments, and then pay off most of the debt in less than a year, and the boy had slipped from his grasp. Gareth had watched his career from afar, watching the most prestigious brands and agencies vie for him as he aged and grew, impossibly, more beautiful.

He knew from his history with Mrs. Safinov that she used all the money that Vincent brought in for years to support his ill father, blowing through his windfalls, driving him to work obsessively. Gareth had enough tangential contacts in the modeling and fashion worlds to know that there weren’t many models—male especially—who were in higher demand and who worked more religiously. Vincent’s name might not be a household one, but his face? He was as recognizable as many top actors and actresses.

Gareth had kept an eye out when Mr. Safinov had finally kicked the bucket after six long years of illness. Mrs. Safinov didn’t last a year beyond her husband, leaving Vincent to care for his younger sister by the time he was eighteen. And Vincent had never slowed down.

“What do you think?” Liz asks him, a thread of amusement in her voice.

“About?” he asks.

“Vince,” she says, as if it should be obvious. “Come now, Gareth, I know you’ve had a crush on that young man for years. Does he live up to expectations?” she asks.

As if she didn’t know perfectly well that Vincent _exceeds_ his expectations. Photographs don’t do the man justice at all. “A _crush_?” he says, dismissive, then gives her a look. “Does he meet your expectations?”

“He’s honestly astonishing in person. No wonder designers love him on the catwalk. I can’t wait to see if I can capture him on film,” she admits.

“Not sorry you didn’t work with him sooner?”

“No,” she says. “This is the project he was meant for. Did you see him next to Sacsha and Caroline? Can you _imagine_ how they will be together?” Her voice takes on a breathy quality that makes him suspect she finds the idea alone arousing.

Gareth can relate, and he really can’t afford to imagine it too vividly or he’d ruin the line of his suit. “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying?”

“I thought you’d leap at this chance,” she says, teasing. “I’m planning on giving Vince a private tour of my gallery after the shoot, if he’s not too worn out.” She waggles her eyebrows at him, and he has to shake his head, even as a smile pulls at his lips.

“If I haven’t already told you thank you, please allow to correct that. Perhaps I can… impose on that tour?” he suggests.

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Perhaps you’d like to give him your own, private tour… perhaps of a bedroom or convenient hallway?”

“I wouldn’t object,” he says with as much dignity as he can muster. Liz has always had the unique ability to fluster him. Maybe it comes from knowing him since he was a teenager.

“I’m not sure he would either, but if you’re interested in him, for the love of Goddess, Gareth, try to woo him honestly.”

“Do you think that would actually work?” he asks.

She shrugs. “I’ve heard he’s not picky about his lovers. I’d lay money that he and Sacsha have slept together before. Who knows, it may be a novelty to have someone interested in _him_ for more than his face.” She crosses her arms and gives him assessing look. “If you _are_ interested in him beyond a one-night-stand, that is.”

“I can’t imagine one night with him would ever be enough,” Gareth says with far more honesty than he meant to.

She stares off over to where the models are getting their final touches. They won’t be much longer. “I shouldn’t tell you this,” she says.

Gareth immediately leans in closer, because he’s good at reading people, but Liz is damn near psychic, and he’ll take any advice she can give him. “Oh?” he prods, letting the interest linger in his voice.

“Don’t ask him out,” she says. Gareth opens his mouth to protest, then pauses, realizing she’s not done talking yet. “Tell him you’re taking him out.”

Gareth has to swallow and think about very, very unpleasant things when she tells him that. When he’s sure he’s not going to embarrass himself, he says, “So he’s like that, you think?”

She gives him a sideways look. She’s all for free love, and Vincent is an adult, but there’s probably fifteen years between them, and it’s enough that even Liz is hesitating to help him. “That’s the only tip I’m giving you. That’ll get you in the door. From there, it’s all you,” she says.

Gareth feels a smug grin grow. He’ll take it.

* * *

Vince’s face is buried between Caroline’s legs, and the way she’s gasping and writhing as he eats her out is almost as good as the feeling of Sacsha’s fingers stretching him. It’s going to be tight because he can’t get out of the mermaid tail, but it has a convenient slit.

He jumps as one of Sacsha’s long fingers finds his prostate. It presses his nose hard to Caroline’s clit, and she makes a sound that’s dangerously close to a squeal.

“Stay with me, gorgeous,” Sacsha says. His whole chest is pressed to Vince’s back, and he’s tall enough that he can easily reach Vince’s neck and ear while opening him up.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” Caroline tells him, and the tone is a command. She’s got just enough sense not to grab his hair and fuck that up, but that seems to be the limit of her coherence.

He wonders, not for the first time, if it’s weird that he enjoys eating women out as much—maybe even more—than straight up fucking them. When he’s eating a woman out, there’s no doubting how much she’s enjoying it. He’s acutely aware of how wet she is, can make her writhe and beg and curse in ways that a dick alone just isn’t capable of for most women. He thinks it’s a shame that so many women need their clits stimulated to orgasm—and he’s been with enough women to feel comfortable making that generalization—because orgasming from penetration is _amazing_ in his mind. But he loves making a woman feel good, watching her lose her inhibitions on his tongue. There’s just something about knowing he can please a partner so thoroughly that leaves him feeling emotionally sated, even if he’s not necessarily physically sated.

He sucks on her clit, then hums. She shrieks, and he lets off, moving lower to lick into her. The prosthetics on his hands means he can’t finger her, but it’s fun to see how crazy he can make her with his mouth alone.

“Think you’re ready for me,” Sacsha pants into his neck. “Fuck, watching you eat her out is hot.”

“Do it,” Caroline says, since Vince’s mouth is otherwise occupied. Vince is watching her as he licks as deep into her as he can, and she spreads her thighs farther.

“Keep eating her out,” Sacsha tells him, and Vince can feel him press his dick to his entrance. “Don’t stop. Make her feel as good as you’re feeling.” He moves forward slowly, letting Vince’s body yield to him rather than spearing him. Vince moans into Caroline, trying to keep focus, not necessarily succeeding. “Don’t stop,” he reminds.

“God, please don’t stop,” Caroline says.

Vince tries to focus on her, but it’s really, really _hard_ , because Sacsha is filling him, and _fuck_ , he loves it.

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Caroline snaps, and he dives back down. As Sacsha starts to thrust, though, he’s losing his rhythm. It’s always so hard to _think_ around a dick in him.

Caroline grabs his hair and pulls him up, away from Sacsha, and he _whines_ at the loss until she steals it with a kiss, licking into his mouth, mimicking the way he’d licked into her, chasing her own taste in his mouth. She keeps him close while Sacsha reseats himself, swallowing down his whimper. When she breaks it, he bends his head to lave her neck, and she says, “Put a rubber on this boy. I need him to fuck me.”

He feels Sacsha’s chuckle against his back as much as hears it, but Sacsha stills to dig a condom out of his discarded pants. He slides a hand into a hidden slit in the damn fin, and finds Vince’s rock-hard cock, easing it out and putting the condom on with ease that tells of experience. They all shift to get Vince and Caroline positioned correctly while Sacsha is still inside Vince. An inadvertent jab at his prostate sends a shudder through Vince’s whole body, and Caroline chuckles.

“Oo, he liked that,” she says. Her hands have come up to clutch at Vince’s shoulders as he settles at her entrance.

“What, this?” Sacsha does it again, on purpose this time, and Vince’s arms almost give out.

“Fuck him into me, Sash,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, then pulls back and gives a hard thrust that shoves Vince halfway into Caroline. It’s almost enough to send him over right there, and a vague part of Vince’s mind thinks _that’s why you don’t do threesomes with a guy and a girl… fucking and being fucked at the same time is almost too much._

Sacsha pulls back, and thrusts in again, hard enough to force Vince fully inside Caroline. They breath one another’s gasps, and suddenly all Vince can do is hold on. With his legs still bound in the mermaid tail, neither of them can get quite as deep as they want, but the shallower dicking has its own appeal, and there’s enough space between him and Caroline that he can tease her clit while he fucks her.

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” she gasps, hitching her hips, either trying to get him deeper or chase his teasing fingers, he’s not sure. Vince bends his back a bit more, nosing down her sternum before laying teasing nips to one of her breasts. She’s naturally well-endowed, which is a pleasure, and he sucks a nipple for a tease before tugging it with his teeth. That seems to be the final straw, because she keens and tightens around him like a vise. He pulls on the nipple a little harder, rubbing her clit with more force to draw it out.

Seeing Caroline orgasm must have pushed Sacsha over the edge, because he starts the short, hard thrusts that almost always prelude cumming, and he yanks Vince back and up, getting some additional depth, even though he yanks him out of Caroline. Vince doesn’t have time to complain because he loves the additional depth, and Sacsha immediately jacks him off in time with the thrusts. Vince cums a heartbeat before Sacsha does, and getting his prostate jabbed while he’s in the middle of cumming is an extra bonus, drawing out his own orgasm.

While Sacsha rides out his own orgasm, he turns Vince’s head and gives him a filthy kiss. The angle is awkward, but Vince doesn’t want him to move a moment before he has to, and kissing Sacsha is a pleasure.

“Shit,” Caroline says, piercing the bubble Vince had been in. Sacsha pulls out, and they both immediately want the condom off, because used condoms feel gross once the endorphins start winding down.

They both fall to their sides next to her, Sacsha still cuddled up to Vince’s back. He props his head up on an arm even as his other hand goes to Vince’s side to caress his torso as if he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching him. It’s soothing, and Vince thinks it’s a shame that he’d been so drunk the last time they fucked, because this? This cuddling. He fucking adores it and not many of the people he sleeps with do.

“What?” Sacsha asks, which is good, because it’ll probably be at least a few minutes before Vince can make words make sense outside of his head. It’s been a while since sex has been _that_ satisfying.

She cuddles in to Vince’s front, throwing a leg over his hips. “You two are _seriously_ hot together.”

Vince smiles and can feel Sacsha’s chuckle against his back again.

“Hot enough to get you wet again?” Sacsha teases.

“Yes, and I think Vince made me come four or five times before you guys finally fucked me.” Her eyes are happy and dancing, and that deep sense of satisfaction settles in Vince’s chest. She leans forward and kisses him again, sweeter this time, not pecks, but nothing dirty, just more intimate than he’s used to. “The mouth on you,” she tells him when they break apart.

Vince chuckles softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His mouth and jaw are sore from the unusual workout. He sleeps with guys more often because guys are just usually more blatant in their come-ons and invitations, so he doesn’t get to exercise those particular muscles as much.

She kisses him again. “It most definitely is.”

They’re all cooling down, and it isn’t _cool_ in the atrium, but it’s not the kind of hot that makes them welcome the chill of drying sweat.

“I think there’s a hot tub,” Caroline says after she shivers.

“We need to make sure that Liz doesn’t need us anymore. I’m pretty sure the hot tub will take all of Vince’s makeup off,” Sacsha says. He’s worked with Liz before, so he would know.

“Ugh,” she complains. She finds the oversized button-down that she’d been wearing before this started. It’s wet, half-transparent, and a little muddy, but it looks amazing on her, and Vince has the fleeting thought that Liz might want to take pictures of them like this, happy and lazy after good sex. She gets up. “I’ll go ask.”

Sacsha presses his chest more tightly to Vince’s when he feels him shiver. “I’ll keep you warm,” he murmurs, and there’s a definite salacious undertone to it, but Vince laughs, because Sachsa isn’t hard at all, and he knows he’s teasing.

“By all means,” he says, tucking an arm under his head to be more comfortable.

“Why haven’t we done this more often,” Sacsha wonders, and there’s something honest in the question Vince wasn’t expecting.

“We don’t work together a lot,” he points out.

“Yeah, but we’re in the same places often enough that we could…”

“What, date?” Vince asks, and he laughs as he says it because the thought of someone like him dating is, honestly, laughable.

“Yes.”

The sincerity in Sacsha’s voice throws Vince, and he turns in his arms so he can see his face.

“That’s the sex talking,” he tells him seriously. “Very, very good sex, true. But just sex.”

Sacsha reaches up to move some of the wet hair off his face, and he’s looking at Vince like… Vince isn’t quite sure what. People don’t look at him that way… like they’re seeing _him_. Like he’s… special. “I think it could be more,” Sacsha says, and something about his tone reminds Vince of the voice used to soothe frightened animals.

It pisses him off. He sits up. “Way to kill the mood.”

Sacsha sits up with him. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s the problem.”

“Have you ever even dated anyone?” Sacsha asks. “Not just a few one-night stands. Really dated.”

“You’ve _met_ me. What do you think?” Vince snaps.

Before Sacsha can respond, Caroline comes back. “Liz says we’re good. She got everything she wanted,” she says. She’s still grinning and happy, and Vince’s buzz is killed. “So we can go get in the hot tub,” she says it with a little heat and a lot of promise.

“You guys enjoy. I need to get home,” he says, scooting back into the water.

Caroline’s face falls. “But—”

“Not that I don’t enjoy the work.” He gives her elevator eyes, and she really does look lovely all rumpled and satisfied. “But it is supposed to be my week off before runway hell month starts, and I’ve barely seen my sister in weeks.”

All of that is _true_ , but it’s not why he’s turning them down. Caroline doesn’t know him well enough to know it, and Sacsha really _shouldn’t_ , but given their discussion, he’s pretty sure the other man suspects.

“I’m sure it could wait,” Sacsha starts.

“I’m good,” he says. “Really, you guys enjoy.” He drops back into the deeper water, and weirdly, it’s warmer than it was out of it. “I’ll head back. It was a pleasure, again, Caroline,” he tells her. “Nice to see you, Sacsha.”

“Yeah,” Sacsha says, but he looks pensive. “Nice to see you too, Vince.”

Vince swims down what amounts to a lazy river, back to where the makeup artists had been set up.

When he puts his hands on the ledge to try and heave himself out, someone steps into his view.

“Let me give you a hand.” Gareth Delbonis squats down in front of him, putting out his hands. “It can’t be easy to get out in that tail,” he notes.

It won’t be. It’ll be even more awkward once he gets out of the water, so he nods, and takes Gareth’s hands. Gareth pulls him out of the water like he weighs nothing—and he’s 6’1”, so he’s no feather—and the easy strength would be a serious turn on if he hadn’t just been thoroughly laid. Gareth lets him hold on till he gets his balance and can find the hidden zipper in the tail, so he can step out of it and actually walk, albeit like a penguin.

“Thanks,” he says, shuffling over behind the screen for him to change. “Where’s Liz?” he asks.

A towel is thrown over the screen, and that’s appreciated. He probably needs a good hot shower to get all the makeup and prosthetics off, but it isn’t his first time getting that crap put on or taken off.

“She said to give you her apologies. She wanted to start working on the images right away,” he says, pitching his voice to be heard over the screen. “She requested a raincheck on the personal exhibition, but she asked that you schedule a makeup walkthrough with Ambrose.”

“Ambrose?” Vince asks, dried off enough to pull his clothing on.

“Her butler.”

“Oh.” Vince pulls his shirt on over his head, grabs his shoes and socks and goes back over to the prep chairs, bringing the towel with him. “That’s fine. I probably won’t have time before my vacation’s over,” he says, pulling the first sock and shoe on in rapid succession. Gareth makes his way over to Vince. It’s meant to be a meandering, lazy thing, but Vince isn’t an idiot, and he know when he’s in someone’s sights.

“I can show you, if you’d like,” Gareth offers. “I’m familiar with Liz’s collection.”

Vince flicks a glance up at him, pulling the other shoe and sock on, then using the towel to scrunch more water out of his hair. He’s got what seems like a billion beads and shells woven into his hair, and he doesn’t want to bring them home, so he uses the mirror to start picking them out. The bowls where Zach had pulled them from are still sitting on the temporary vanity, so he drops them into their respective bowls automatically.

“I’ll pass, but thanks,” he says.

“How long are you in town for?” Gareth asks.

Okay, so they’re getting direct now. Vince sighs. “New York Fashion Week is next week, so I’m, hypothetically, free until this weekend. Next week, the crazy starts,” he says, watching Gareth out of the corner of his eye as he tries to get all the crap out of his hair.

“Do you have plans tomorrow evening?”

Because Vince is more focused on the crap in his hair, he answers on autopilot. “Nope.” The minute the truth comes out of his mouth, he regrets it, because it leaves him open, and he probably shouldn’t do that.

“Then I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow evening,” Gareth says, and Vince actually stops and stares at him.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll need your address for the car, of course.”

“I don’t think—”

Gareth reaches out and gently pulls a bead free from Vince’s hair. He gets the faintest whiff of Gareth’s cologne—something smoky and dark and earthy—and okay, maybe he’s not totally disinterested, even if Gareth is older than Vince usually goes for unless they’re in the industry.

“Don’t think,” Gareth says, his voice deep and rich as he presents the bead to Vince like a gift. “Just be ready by six. I assume you have a suit.”

Vince meets his eyes, and there’s a banked heat there that’s like a promise. “Okay,” he agrees. “But you’re paying.” There’s no way this guy wants to take him anywhere less than fine dining if he wants him in a suit, and there’s no reason for Vince to foot that bill.

“That,” Gareth says, meeting Vince’s eyes, and something about that gaze holds him. “is my privilege.”

Vince takes the offered bead and drops it into its bowl.

“All right then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For better or worse, after a solid month of pouring out words resulting in over 100k (collective, not just on this), the floodgates have been closed. Still have ideas, still writing, just not at the pace of between 5-10k a day I was. Comments and kudos really are hugely motivating, so thanks to everyone (especially you wonderful people who comment consistently). I'm not afraid to continue to ask for your support if you feel I deserve it. <3


	5. A Date with Gareth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not some trinket to be bought with a dinner. No.” He draws the word out. “You’re coming home with me because you want to.”

Connery wanted to take Amelie to a movie the next night anyway, and as much as his sister misses him, it’s also pretty typical for her to get a little antsy having him around full time after the third or fourth day. Vince does _not_ think about what that says about exactly how little he’s around, just acts gracious in deigning to allow Connery to steal his sister for an evening.

He doesn’t tell her he’s meeting someone, doesn’t tell her he’s going out at all. It’s probably just dinner and a fuck, one and done. He’ll probably be home before she and Connery are anyway.

That said, he’s recognizable, so if he’s going to go out somewhere nice, he might as well dress the part. He pulls out a sand-colored, subtly pinstriped suit. Just to be a tease, he pulls out a rose-red deep-V T-shirt to wear under it. It’s deep enough to show his pecs, and Amelie absolutely hates it on him because she doesn’t think it’s attractive for guys to show that much cleavage (her words, not his—he graciously does _not_ give her shit about the weird double standard). Although models don’t get to keep as many samples as people _think_ , Vince gets gifted a lot, so his closet is well-stocked. He grabs a black leather necklace that loops around his neck then slip-knots together to let then ends dangle down the center of his chest.

He doesn’t have a lot of time, so he’s grateful that his hair is generally pretty wash-and-wear. A little product to give his long bangs a little more definition and hold, and then goes ahead and parts it a lot more dramatically than he usually does, which makes his hair look like a golden mane. A little guyliner wouldn’t go amiss, but he’s honestly out of time.

He grabs his sketch bag and slings it over a shoulder. It’s rich, dark leather and has a vintage feel of it that has been on the edge of _in_ since Andi gifted it to him six years ago. He privately believes that it offended her fashion sense to have her rising star dragging around a bag she called “high school chic” and just used the big contract as an excuse to get him something more palatable. Somewhere between a messenger bag and a nice leather briefcase, it does, indeed, go with damn near everything and looks professional.

He throws the strap over a shoulder and heads down, checking his phone. Two minutes.

Somehow, he isn’t terribly surprised to find Gareth waiting for him when he steps out the door of his building. He’s in a light gray suit, and his tie matches his eyes perfectly, making them jump out of his face.

So, Gareth might be more attractive than Vince gave him credit for. His perspective is skewed, okay?

“Right on time,” Gareth says, and Vince realizes he’s a couple inches taller. Just a couple.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Safinov,” the doorman—Ahmed, that’s his name—says.

“Thanks, Ahmed,” he says. Living in a building that still has a doorman is an expense he was loathe to incur, but stalkers are a thing, and he might be on the bubble of “famous” but he’s on it enough that keeping people out of his building is an unfortunate necessity. The warm smile Ahmed gifts him with is worth remembering. He’s in and out so often, the doormen’s names sometimes go right out of his head.

“Our car is this way,” Gareth says. “I don’t expect you’ll have time to draw this evening,” he says.

Vince shrugs. “You never know. I promise, if I don’t bring it, I’ll have time.”

Gareth chuckles. “I suppose that’s fair.” He can feel Gareth’s eyes on him as he keeps step with him. “You look wonderful.”

Vince always feels weird about compliments on his appearance. It’s literally his job to be good-looking, so, it’s… kind of a given? He’s pretty sure he wakes up looking better than most people after they’ve put effort into it. Once he’s actually made an effort, he’s as good as untouchable. It’s one thing to get the compliment from the rare people who don’t realize he’s a literal model, but from someone who’s seen him at work? It’s always a little weird.

“Not too bad yourself,” he returns.

“Here we are,” Gareth says, opening a town car door for him. Vince shouldn’t be surprised it isn’t just a cab—judging by the cost of the suit that Gareth is wearing, he’s planning to wow Vince tonight—but he is. He manages not to roll his eyes and just gets in.

Gareth is eyeing him like he’s dessert and they haven’t even left his building. Vince seriously considers telling the man to just take him back to his place so they can fuck and he can move on. But he _did_ get dressed up, he _is_ hungry, and the meal should be expensive. The guy hasn’t really been anything but courteous so far. It won’t kill him to have dinner with him, even if it’s kind of like a date, and Vince definitely does not do dates.

They make small talk as the car takes them to the restaurant because if nothing else, working all over the world with new people nearly every freaking week will teach you how to talk to strangers. When he asks Gareth where they’re going, Gareth just smiles and says, “I’d like it to be a surprise.”

Dinner is at one of the most exclusive restaurants in New York, and Vince isn’t that surprised. Gareth orders for him, refusing the menus, which was a little irritating, but Vince has to admire the confidence. He isn’t a picky eater and doesn’t have any allergies. In a place like this, there isn’t a bad dish to be had, so he just sits back and enjoys. Gareth limits them both to a single glass of wine with dinner, and it is a nice change that the man isn’t trying to get him drunk. Since the food is amazing, Vince caves to splitting a dessert with Gareth. Andi would _kill_ him if she knew he’d destroyed his nutrition plan after less than a week home, but it is _worth_ it.

When the check comes, Gareth takes it and signs quickly, handing it back to the waiter. He takes a moment to send a text to the driver to pick them up, but otherwise hasn’t touched his phone the entire dinner. He laces his fingers, leaning on the table and meeting Vince’s eyes. “Shall we retreat to my place?” he asks.

Vince gives him a wicked grin. “Do you really think buying me a fancy dinner means I’m coming home with you?” he asks, teasing and in an unusually good mood because both dinner and the company had been excellent.

“Not at all,” Gareth says with a laugh. “You’re not some trinket to be bought with a dinner. No.” He draws the word out. “You’re coming home with me because you want to,” he says.

He’s not wrong.

* * *

Vince is passingly familiar with the building Gareth lives in and the prices it commands, but it’s not really a surprise that Gareth is rolling in it. A two-bedroom of this size in this part of the city? It says a lot. He is surprised when Gareth doesn’t jump him the second they get in the door. He spent the meal eye fucking Vince, so he’s not expecting restraint once they’re finally alone.

“Would you like a drink?” Gareth asks, moving from the entry to the open kitchen.

 _Niceties_ , Vince thinks, irritated. God save him from good manners that are interfering with a fuck. He follows Gareth into the kitchen, setting his bag on the island. He’s tempted to jump him to get it over with. He’s not sure what stops him other than some sense that tells him Gareth won’t like it. This isn’t a man who likes to be pushed around or manipulated. Everything that’s happened so far has been as he orchestrated it—he won’t appreciate Vince breaking his mold.

“You should have some more water,” Gareth says rather than waiting for a response from Vince, sliding a water bottle to him.

“I’m not—”

“I intend to give you a workout,” Gareth interrupts. “So drink up.”

Vince raises an eyebrow, but he cracks the seal on the water bottle. Two can play at this game. He raises the bottle and tilts his head back, watching Gareth through lidded eyes as he takes deep, slow drinks. Gareth’s eyes are glued to him as he does it. Vince stops after drinking half the bottle down without a break. When he sets the bottle on the island, he meets Gareth’s eyes, then licks the water from his lips. Watching Gareth’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, eyes fixed on Vince, is gratifying.

“Have—” Gareth’s voice cracks, and Vince gives himself another mental point. He clears his throat and when he speaks again, Gareth’s voice is its normal silky richness. “Have a seat and finish your drink.”

Vince shrugs and does so, raising the bottle again as Gareth moves over to his side of the island. Vince can feel him come to a stop behind him as he drinks down the remaining half. Gareth waits until he’s lowering the bottle to touch him, but that seems to be the breaking point. He pulls the suit jacket off Vince’s shoulders, leaving him in the thin tee. The jacket set aside, one hand starts on Vince’s hip, while the other starts just above his elbow. They both move up in concert, but the one that started on his hip is stopped where his arm meets body, then slides forward. It finds one of Vince’s nipples through his shirt at the same time that the other hand has slid up to caress his neck. The teasing of the fabric against his nipple gets a soft sigh out of Vince, even as Gareth’s long-fingered hand takes control of his neck.

It should set off alarms in Vince’s head, having Gareth’s hand half-wrapped around his throat, having him move Vince’s head around, but it doesn’t. He gives another almost inaudible sigh and relaxes into the sure hands and the warm strength behind him.

“You…” Gareth says into his ear, his voice getting deeper. “Do you even have any idea?” he asks. It could be a thousand things but it sounds like a rhetorical question, so Vince stays silent. “I think it’s time to stop playing,” he murmurs. “Follow me.”

* * *

Vince follows Gareth down his hall to his bedroom without resistance, and Gareth honestly can’t remember the last time he was this turned on when he hadn’t even been touched. He owes Liz a case or three of her favorite wine for her tip too.

He steps into Vince’s space once in the bedroom, lifts his chin, and kisses him for the first time. Vince melts under him, yielding, opening to him, letting Gareth plunder and possess his mouth, and Gareth cannot _wait_ to do the same to that perfect body. He spent a good portion of dinner trying to decide how he was going to take Vince for the first time, and even now, he’s not entirely sure.

Gareth does think it needs to be relatively vanilla though. The way Vince has paused before every command he’s given all night, like he’s considering it, as if he’d actually refuse it, is cute, but Gareth had grown more sure a the night wore on that Vince is completely unaware of his own nature. Gareth wants to be the one who teaches him, who shows him how much he needs to be possessed and owned and commanded, but he isn’t so far gone that he’s forgotten that he can’t _lead_ with that. He does want to push tonight, but if he pushes too hard, he risks frightening Vince away, and that will not do.

When Gareth breaks the kiss, he breaths, “Strip for me, Vincent,” against Vince’s lips. He can feel the shudder pass through Vince and knows that, at least, was a command worth giving.

He takes his own clothing off methodically as Vince gives him a little bit of a striptease—not much of one, but Gareth hasn’t asked for it anyway—and is soon standing naked in front of him. Gareth stops at his own underwear, just taking in the beautiful evenly golden skin, the glimpse of muscle definition he gets with every movement Vince makes, and yes, it’s even a turn-on to see that Vince’s pubic hair is a perfect match for the hair on his head.

“Get on the bed,” Gareth commands. There’s another almost imperceptible hesitation, then Vince scoots back in the middle of the bed. “Hands above your head, spread your legs for me, beautiful.” When Vince follows both of these directives without any visible hesitation this time, Gareth adds, “So good for me.”

He waits a moment, taking his fill of the sight of Vincent spread out, all but glowing against his black bedding. He’s living art.

Gareth goes to the nightstand to pull out a condom and the lube, then drops his own underwear. He hears Vince’s breath hitch as his full member is revealed, and that will never not be a turn-on. Especially because when he looks down, he can see that Vince’s own arousal is climbing, not waning at the sight of him.

Tossing the necessities near Vince’s hip, Gareth takes himself in hand and gives himself a lazy stroke. “I see you want this, pretty boy,” he says. “Have you ever been with someone as big as me?” he asks, curious.

Vince’s throat bobs as he swallows, and he has to tear his eyes off Gareth’s now fully-filled cock to answer him. “Yes,” he says. “But it’s been a long time.”

“Do you have any toys this big?” Gareth asks, stroking himself again.

“I don’t use toys,” Vince says.

“I find that difficult to believe.”

Vince shrugs. “If I want to get laid, it’s not like it’s hard for me to find someone,” he says. There’s nothing boasting or proud about the statement, just fact. “I never found toys very satisfying.”

Gareth gets on the bed, then slinks down between Vince’s legs, spreading them wider—wide enough that it should stretch, but Vince goes with it easily. It makes Gareth want to figure out exactly how flexible his new pet is, but it will have to wait. He laps at the head of Vince’s hard prick, watching Vince’s reactions. He gasps at even the light touch, which is interesting. Gareth continues to lick his cock like a melting popsicle, never really taking it into his mouth, just teasing him while he gets some lube on his hand. He presses a single finger into Vince without warning or checking for approval and takes the head of his cock in at the same time. Vince’s spine arches and he gasps, grabbing the wrought-iron headboard. Gareth bobs his head, not bothering to take Vince deep, keeping his rhythm steady with the finger thrusting in and out of Vince’s tight hole. He knows that Vince is no virgin, but he’s certainly as tight as one, and it makes Gareth decide how he’s going to take the boy.

He releases Vince’s dick and gets a whine for it, but Vince’s hips are still chasing his finger. He whines again when Gareth removes the finger to apply more lube to it before reinserting it. While thrusting his finger in and out, he asks, “Can you cum from behind?”

“S… sometimes,” Vince says, breathing getting heavier, cock pointing toward his belly button he’s so hard. Gareth figures that while Vince may be quite sexually active, it doesn’t appear that he gets a lot of blow jobs—his reaction is just too extreme.

Gareth takes the base of Vince’s cock in his hands and gently presses at the vein underneath it, then rubs Vince’s prostate— _hard._ He doesn’t have a word to describe the sound Vince makes as he practically arches off the bed, he just keeps tapping hard and quick on his prostate while making sure he can’t cum.

“Oh, God, lemme cum, please. I’ve gotta…” Vince cuts himself off with a cry as Gareth removes his finger and his hand.

One of Vince’s hands drops to take care of himself, but Gareth says, “That is mine. You will not touch it.”

Vince’s hand hovers, that moment of hesitation before he reaches up to grip the headboard bars again. Gareth rubs the spot under the head of his cock and says, “So good for me.” Vince’s cock twitches in his hand at the praise and it appears the beautiful boy has a legitimate praise kink. One day, Gareth is going to talk him to an orgasm just by telling him how good and beautiful and perfect he is, but it won’t be today.

He lets Vince come down a little, then starts it over again, teasing Vince’s prostate ruthlessly with just one finger while blowing him, waiting until he’s on the edge to pull back and leave him hanging. It’s clear from the way he’s begging and crying in short order that no one has ever denied Vince like this, and he’s so achingly beautiful in his pleading, Gareth thinks if he were younger, he could cum from it alone. Vince is young enough that he almost certainly can cum a couple times in a setting, but Gareth isn’t, and he wants to draw this out. For all of the babbling and begging spilling out of Vince’s mouth, he never says “no” or “stop” or “too much,” and whenever he seems to be about to get there, Gareth simply reassures him with praise, and he settles back in.

How the hell no one has figured out that Vincent Safinov is a born sub if Gareth has ever met one, he has no idea. He doesn’t intend to let anyone else ever figure it out.

“Please, Gareth. Please, please. I need it. I need to cum. I need you inside. Please.” The words spill out of him without conscious thought, but Gareth is not above taking advantage of how far gone Vince is. He grabs the lube again and slicks up his dick generously, then moves to place it at Vince’s barely prepped hole.

Feeling the head tease his hole seems to make Vince more aware, and that isn’t something Gareth wants. “Open up for me,” he says. “I know you can do it. I know you want this.” He pushes just a little harder forward and uses a hand to stroke Vince’s cock as he does it. “I know you want my thick cock to open you up. You want to feel your body yield to every inch of me. Want to be stuffed deeper than your fingers can reach with me. I know you want it.” He’s been rocking his cock back and forth, teasing the rim, waiting for it to soften up. “Open up for me. I know you can. Let me in like a good boy.”

At the last bit of praise, Vince’s guard muscle gives and the head of Gareth’s cock sinks into him. He groans because the limited prep has left Vince almost too tight. He pulls back a little bit, still stroking Vince’s cock—not that he has any intention of letting him cum until Gareth is good and ready—then presses in deeper. “Yes,” he hisses. He pulls back till just the head is in. “Okay, beautiful. You’re doing so good for me, I want to open you up in one long push. I want you to relax for me, Vincent. Open up, let me in. You want me so deep you can taste me in your throat.”

Vince’s eyes roll back and he moans, but his body relaxes enough that Gareth feels confident pushing forward. “Oh, so good,” he praises as he presses in, feeling each inch of Vince give slowly. “Eating me up so good. You’re so perfect, taking me in. How does it feel to be stretched on my cock like this, beautiful?”

“I… can’t…”

“You can, baby. I know it. Keep letting me in. I know you want to feel me deep in your guts. You want me to fill you up, stretch you, carve a place for my cock.”

He has to press at the bottom of Vince’s dick to keep him from coming from some combination of the words and the actions. When he’s finally buried, Vince is the most perfect vise he’s ever had. Gareth strokes his sides and showers more praise on him. “That’s it, baby. You did it. I knew you could. Did it so perfect. Took me so perfect. Like you were made for it.” He waits, letting the fine trembling in Vince’s body ease, then asks, “How does it feel?”

“Intense,” Vince says, opening his eyes for the first time in a while. His pupils are so wide, there’s only the barest ring of amber around them. “Full.” He presses a hand to his lower abdomen, as if he can feel Gareth from the outside.

“Just like you should be,” Gareth says, rolling his hips a little and getting a moan. “Feel good, beautiful?”

“So good.”

“You feel full, baby?”

“So full.”

“Has anyone ever filled you like this? Taken you like this?” He gives a sharp thrust, hoping to catch Vince’s prostate, and by the gasp and arch, he did so.

“ _No_ …” Vince says, sighing out the word.

Gareth begins long dicking the boy, loving how Vince whines and thrashes beneath him. He takes his hands off Vince’s dick—he wants to see him cum from his dick, not his hands—and grips Vince’s hips instead, shifting him to test angles.

“Gonna cum,” Vince gasps.

“You will not,” Gareth tells him. “Not until I tell you.”

Vince whimpers and buries his face in his bicep.

“Look at me, Vincent.” He pulls out till just his head is inside, then waits until Vince is watching him before plunging in, hard. “Watch me,” he says, continuing the long dicking rhythm. “Don’t look away. See how your body accepts me. Feel how empty you are when I pull back. You’re so good. You’re perfect, my sweet. You were made for my cock. Made to take me. _Tell me_.”

“Made… for you…” Vince gasps out. He closes his eyes with each thrust, but quickly opens them to watch again. That alone causes Gareth’s heart to speed, tempts him to pound hard and fast, makes him want to find his own release quickly. He doesn’t dare. He knows subspace when he sees it, and the way Vince is responding to every word and command tells him Vince is down deep. Gareth wants him there as long as he can keep him there, imprinting himself into Vince’s subconscious. “Please let me cum… so close… I need…”

“You _want_ ,” Gareth corrects, pegging Vince’s prostate again. He loves seeing the precum oozing from Vince’s dick when he does that. “But more than you want to cum, Vincent, you want to please me, don’t you?” he asks.

Vince whimpers but doesn’t answers.

“You _want_ to cum, but you _need_ to please, don’t you? You need to satisfy me. It pleases me to see you like this, so turned on the barest nudge could tip you over, but holding it back for me. You want to continue to please me, don’t you?”

“… _Yes_.” The response comes with a hesitation, like he’s not sure, but it comes, and that’s what’s important.

“Such a good boy. Keep it back. Keep pleasing me.”

“Please…” he whines.

“No more of that,” Gareth says. “It pleases me to see you like this. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, on that precipice? Do you know how much it turns me on to know you’re holding back because I told you to? No—” he hushes when Vince opens his mouth. “The only thing I want to hear from your mouth is my name. Say it.”

“Gareth,” Vince gasps.

“Who is filling you?”

“Gareth.”

“Who do you need to please?”

“Gareth.”

Gareth continued spilling the filth forward. _Who makes you need? Who is the only one who can satisfy you? Whose cock fills you perfectly? Who were you made for?_ He ends with, “Who do you belong to?”

“ _Gareth_.”

“Such a good boy,” Gareth tells him, and he’s finally at his limit. “You can cum only when I do,” he says, then begins to thrust hard, deep, and fast. His name falls from Vince’s lips like a prayer, the only word he can say as he rides out the storm. “ _Now_ ,” he demands as he cums.

Strung so tightly for so long, Vince virtually convulses with his own orgasm. He’s so tight, it hurts, but it’s that perfect hurt that makes the pleasure even better. Vince cums so hard, he splatters his own face. Gareth can’t help but stroke the previously untouched dick to draw out the orgasm, even when he can tell by the way Vince squirms and twitches it’s too much.

“Submit, beautiful,” Gareth tells him. “It pleases me to see you like this, so submit and please me.”

He can almost see the words sink into Vince as he relaxes into the bed, just riding out the end of his orgasm. His eyes are fixed on Gareth the whole time.

Gareth unfolds from his own knees and moves forward in a more comfortable position. He’s in good shape, but he has fifteen years on Vince, and that had been a genuine workout for him, no matter how pleasurable. He’s careful to keep his softening member inside of Vince as he does. Fortunately, he’s not much of a grower, so even fully soft, he’s a good eight inches. He reaches up and seeks out every bit of cum he can find, wiping it off Vince’s skin to feed it to him, murmuring praise each time Vince accepts it until he eagerly opens his mouth and sucks Gareth’s fingers like they’re mini cocks. When he can’t find any more and he can feel the shivers starting to set into Vince, he shifts to spoon them and get them both buried under the warm, thick comforter. He tangles their legs, slips an arm under Vince’s pillow to prop it, then wraps the other around Vince’s waist. “Sleep, sweet one,” he says.

He just enjoys the feel of Vince in his arms until he’s gone completely lax in Gareth’s arms, breathing deep and even, then lets himself drop off as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said a "consensual relationship" not a "healthy relationship," right? Because these two were going to have a messed up relationship no matter what. 
> 
> That said, if you like, kudos and comments are gold that I hoard away and put toward more chapters.


	6. Consequences and a Quickie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me to stop, or I will take you. I will fuck you bare, cum deep inside you.”

The sound of Amelie’s ringtone penetrates Vince’s mind, dragging him out of a deep sleep.

“Shit,” he grumbles, dragging a hand down his face. A hand strokes his back, and Vince takes a few moments to remember, _dinner, Gareth, sex._ His brain trips on the last for a minute, because it wasn’t just sex, it was _really good_ sex. _Really_ good. He’s had a lot of sex, and it had never been like that. He aches all over, in his back and arms and thighs, even his calves, probably from his toes being curled so tightly for so long. He aches, but they’re good aches, the aches of being well-used, and there’s a languid satisfaction in deep inside.

Really, _really_ good sex.

He drops his head back to Gareth’s chest, preparing to snuggle down and go back to sleep when Amelie’s ringtone goes off again, reminding him why he had woken up in the first place. It’s muffled because his phone was in his pants when he took them off, and they’re in a pile somewhere on the floor.

She’s called at least twice in a row though, so he drags himself out from under the covers and follows the ringing to his pants. He digs the phone out and accepts the call before it goes to voicemail, then sits on the end of the bed.

“Hello?” His voice is rough with more than just sleep, but he’s still not quite awake.

“Vitya?” Amelie sounds frantic. He pulls the phone away from his face and checks the time—2:04 a.m. He sighs, understanding coming as he’s waking up. “Where _are_ you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assures. He tries to clear his throat before continuing. “Sorry. I… met someone and fell asleep.” He rubs at his throat because clearing it hadn’t helped.

“Met someone? Do you know how worried I’ve been? If you were going out, why didn’t you just _tell_ me, so I wouldn’t worry?” she demands. “And what do you mean you met someone and _fell asleep_?”

The whole reason he didn’t tell Amelie is because he didn’t want her to know he was going out with the explicit intention of having a one-night stand. She probably won’t care, but that’s not the point. He doesn’t really want her to know how easy he is, even if it’s stupid and shouldn’t matter. “I met someone for dinner and came back to their place for a drink. I fell asleep. Must have been more tired than I thought.”

“You went home with someone you just met?” she demands. He winces because it’s a valid complaint. He’d lose his shit if she went home with as many near-strangers as he did.

“I’m _fine_ , Mel,” he tries to assure her again.

“You don’t _sound_ fine,” she snaps back.

“I am. Just go to sleep. I’ll be home in like, half an hour,” he tells her, gathering his clothing.

“I’m staying up till you get home,” she says, and there’s no arguing with that tone.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll be there soon,” he assures.

“You’d better be, or I’m calling the cops.”

“Give me forty-five, just in case.”

He can _hear_ the glare in her voice when she says, “Make it sooner,” and hangs up.

He sets his phone next to him and runs a hand over his face again, now well and truly awake.

“Angry girlfriend?” Gareth asks, and when Vince turns to look at him in surprise, there’s surprisingly little judgement on his face.

“What would you do if it was?” he asks instead of clearing up the confusion. He’s not really sure why he doesn’t just tell him Amelie is his sister, except he remembers some of the shit Gareth said to him, and…

It doesn’t bother him. He thinks it _should_ , and the fact that it doesn’t is like an itch he can’t scratch, but the words themselves, they don’t bother him. He knows he’s never reacted to anyone like that before, and it unnerves him.

Gareth’s eyes glint dangerously at his challenge, but he shrugs and says, “Ask when I can see you again.”

Vince blinks at him in the darkness, lit only by the ambient light of New York City. This is always awkward. “There isn’t going to be an ‘again,’" he says. He goes to the attached bathroom to find a washcloth. He really needs a shower because he’s sure he reeks of sweat and sex, but mostly he wants to get that gross, sticky feeling of lube out from between his legs.

He runs the washcloth under the tap just long enough to make it damp, then reaches down to wipe his legs clean when he realizes that it isn’t _just_ lube he’s feeling. His stomach drops, and he slips a finger inside—and yeah, he’s way too…

He fumbles for the light switch and turns it on, closing his eyes against as the lights as they blaze to life. The moment he safely can, he opens them, and checks his finger.

There’s cum on his finger. Cum and lube. Gareth came _inside_ of him. He’s never, _ever_ let someone do that. The last time someone came in him, he’d had no say in it.

He about jumps out of his skin when Gareth puts his arms around Vince’s waist, then he wheels to face Gareth.

“Why the fuck didn’t you use a condom?” he demands, taking the fear clawing at his throat and trying to push it down with anger.

Gareth leans down to kiss his neck, and Vince shoves him back hard. He’s trembling, and he wants to tell himself it’s rage, but it feels closer to panic. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You didn’t stop me,” Gareth says in an utterly reasonable tone. When Vince thinks back, he can remember the feeling of Gareth’s cock pushing at his hole, remembers some distant, out-of-reach place in his mind trying to ring an alarm, but it had been faint and buried beneath a deluge of need. Gareth steps back in, puts a hand on Vince’s hip, and dips his head to murmur into his ear, “You wanted my bare cock sink into you.” His other hand creeps to cup Vince’s ass, then slides down between his crack to tease at his hole. “You _watched_ my naked cock to sink into you.” He plunges two fingers in as he said _sink_ , making Vince gasp and press up into him. “Over, and over, and _over_.” He pulls his fingers out and shoves them back in with every “over,” and Vince’s cock stirs. “You _wanted_ me to fill you, wanted me to take you, to _own_ you.” The hand that had been on Vince’s hip moves to take his cock and begin stroking it in time to his fingers’ thrusts.

Vince gasps, bracing his hands on Gareth’s chest, intending to push him away, but only able to hold on. “I don’t—”

“You _didn’t_ ,” Gareth interrupts. “I am not like anyone else you’ve been with. Admit it.”

Vince whines as a third finger is added. Gareth walks him backward until he bumps the counter, then both hands release him, but only for long enough to grab his waist, lift him, and set him on the counter, stepping between his spread legs, sliding his arms under them, splaying Vince wide. He moves forward and rests his bare erection at Vince’s hole.

Vince stares at him, gripping strong biceps, turned on and not understanding _why_. He should be furious. He should be fighting, screaming, but he meets Gareth’s eyes and sees nothing but controlled heat. Something inside just _loosens_ , and he relaxes.

“Tell me no now,” Gareth demands, pressing the head of his cock forward.

The words stick in Vince’s throat, unwilling to come forward. Gareth presses a little harder, and Vince can tell his body is going to give, going to let him in, and _still_ , the words won’t come.

“Tell me to stop, or I will take you. I will fuck you bare, cum deep inside you.”

Vince opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a moan. He’s hard, so hard, and so _empty_. He’s never been _so_ aware of it, but he is right now, and he has no idea why he can’t say those magic words and make Gareth stop. He just knows that some part of him, bigger than the fear and the panic, wants to say _yes_.

Gareth grins, a wicked, pleased expression, then pulls Vince forward, sheathing himself to the hilt. It’s only when Vince hears his voice echo off the tile, yelling, “ _Yes!_ ” that he realizes it isn’t the first time he’s said it.

This time is nothing like the last; it’s hard and fast and all Vince can do is submit to it and hold on. He cums untouched with a strangled cry as Gareth ruthlessly targets his prostate. It doesn’t stop Gareth from pegging the oversensitive organ, forcing Vince to clench and sob as aftershocks wrack his body and his dick twitches feebly until Gareth gives a few final hard thrusts and cums, buried deep inside Vince. Vince knows it’s impossible, but he swears he can feel the warmth of Gareth’s cum inside.

It’s not until Gareth lets Vince’s legs down and pulls him close, still buried inside him, leaning down to kiss away the tear tracks on his cheeks that Vince even realizes he’s crying. Gareth pulls back enough to cradle Vince’s head against his collar, stroking his back as Vince tries to get the tears under control.

“Just let it out,” Gareth tells him.

“I don’t—” Vince tries to get words out, but they catch in his throat, throttled by feelings he can’t even begin to name.

“Shh…” Gareth hushes, continuing to soothe him. Against all rationale, Vince melts into his warmth and strength. “Just ride it out, Vincent. It’s okay. You are good, beautiful. You are so good. Just feel and let it out.”

“I… why did I?” he asks, not understanding. His one rule, the _only_ hard rule he has, is no unprotected sex. But he didn’t stop Gareth earlier, and he certainly hadn’t stopped him this time either. He had _wanted_ it, and he _knows_ how fucking stupid that is.

The tears have stopped, and aside from the occasional hitching breath, Vince is getting his head back together, but he has _so many_ questions. Gareth finally steps back, and when his spent cock slides out, Vince whines. He fucking _whines_ at the loss. The unexpected response almost sets him off again.

“Hush, Vincent,” Gareth says, petting his hair, and Vince leans into the touch. “Like a kitten,” he says, using his other hand to lift Vince’s chin. He leans down and gives him a gentle kiss, but somehow it feels like a claim all the same. “Let me clean you up, and then I think we need to get you dressed and home, yes?”

 _Amelie._ “Oh my God.” Vince folds his legs up, protecting his vulnerable parts, and buries his face in his hands. “My sister is going to kill me for being late.”

He hears water running, then a washcloth being wrung out, but he doesn’t look up until Gareth tugs one of his hands away from his face. He gently cleans off the tear tracks and other signs of crying. He kisses Vince’s cheek when he’s satisfied, then presses on his knees to make him uncurl. Vince does so reluctantly, but Gareth simply wipes down his chest and the tops of his thighs, cleaning off his own cum. Finally, he pushes Vince’s legs wider, and Vince resists the move. “Vincent,” Gareth says, the slightest hint of disappointment in his tone. Vince crumples at the tone and lets Gareth spread his leg and clean his privates.

A shiver runs through Vince when Gareth cleans his hole, pushing a washcloth-covered finger inside. Gareth glances up.

“Have you always been this sensitive here?” he asks, sounding amused, pressing deeper, getting another shiver. Vince is spent, but the roughness of the washcloth is still weirdly pleasurable.

“I guess,” he says. He’s had sex with more people than he can count, but this easy and casual intimacy is something wholly new to him.

Apparently satisfied, Gareth pulls it out, grinning at a final shudder the action causes. “I think that will do for now. Can you stand to get dressed?” he asks.

It’s a fair question because even if Vince’s legs didn’t feel like spaghetti, his head is fuzzy. Gareth folds the washcloth and cleans his own cock and balls with clinical strokes before tossing it in the sink, putting a hand out for Vince. Vince takes it and scoots off the counter. He’s tall enough that his legs reach the floor, so he doesn’t need to jump down at least. Gareth keeps a hold on his hand and his waist until Vince is sure he’s not going to fall.

“I’m good,” he says.

“Let’s get dressed then. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I—” Vince starts to object, only to find Gareth’s finger on his lips.

“You’re in no state to be in any sort of public transportation. I’ll take you home. Now go get dressed.”

Part of Vince very much does not want Gareth to know where he lives, but his pragmatic side knows there’s no way he’s going to get home in time if he has to call a cab or Lyft or Uber. He dresses quickly, knowing that letting Gareth fuck him again, no matter how fast, has cut into his time, even if his still-shaky legs make it a bit of a challenge.

They stop in the kitchen to grab his bag and put on shoes, then they’re heading down to a basement, where Gareth apparently keeps a car. Vince gives him the directions to his apartment building, and leans back in the seat, watching the night lights of the city out the window.

“Do you have a bath in your apartment?” Gareth asks.

Vince glances at him, confused. “Yeah…”

“Take one when you get in. Make it as hot as you can stand comfortably, and try to stay in for at least half an hour.”

 _The hell?_ “Sure,” he says, not meaning it.

Gareth’s eyes gleam in the dark as he flicks his gaze to Vince. “You _will_ promise me, and you _will_ take that bath.”

“Fine, whatever,” Vince says, waving him off.

“I mean it.”

“I said I’d do it, all right. Don’t be such a bitch.”

A frown pulls at Gareth’s mouth, but all he says is, “I will see you again tomorrow.”

“I’m busy,” Vince says.

“Then clear part of your day.”

“It’s not that simple,” Vince argues, even though, in this rare case, it would be. He has vague plans to spend time with Amelie, which he had probably better take considering how upset she was, but there’s nothing structured planned. He does think she might legitimately strangle him if he decides to go see Gareth again.

Not that he intends to.

“You seem to be confused, so let me clear this up for you,” Vince begins. “As fun as tonight was, I don’t see people more than once, as a general rule.”

“As of tonight, you will only be seeing me, so I don’t think it will be an issue going forward.”

The command in the tone makes something in him want to just relax and sink into him, and it’s _wrong_. This man fucked him bare. He wasn’t wrong about Vince not stopping him, but Vince doesn’t know that he even understood what Gareth was doing.

At least… not the first time.

As for the second, well, the damage was already done by then, wasn’t it?

“That isn’t how this works,” Vince tells him, digging at old, hateful memories to drag the anger up.

“It is now.”

“No, it’s not. I’m not going to see you again.”

Gareth pulls up outside Vince’s building and puts the car into park before turning to face him. “You will if you want to understand why you responded to me the way you did.” He reaches over and hooks long fingers behind Vince’s neck. Vince wants to pull away, but there isn’t really anywhere to go in the confines of the car, and there’s something soothing about the weight of Gareth’s hand on his neck. “You will go up to your apartment and take the bath I told you to take. You will _not_ jerk off, even if cleaning yourself out turns you on. You will unlock and give me your phone.”

Vince glares but pulls out his phone and unlocks it. Gareth takes it, and after a minute, his own phone buzzes. “Now I have your number and you have mine. You _will_ call me tomorrow to let me know when I should expect you. If you need me to pick you up, I can. If I don’t get a call, I will come and pick you up at 8 p.m. and you _will_ be here, waiting for me, am I clear?” he demands.

“Do I look like a fucking dog to you?”

“No.” Before Vince can back away, Gareth has reached forward again, and this time, he grabs a fistful of Vince’s hair, pulls hard enough to make Vince arch his back. “Repeat my instructions back to me, kitten. Don’t leave anything out.”

Vince’s cock is stirring, and he doesn’t understand why. The hand in his hair doesn’t hurt, per se, but it certainly doesn’t feel good. Gareth pulls his head a little further back, making him lengthen his spine and arch it more. “I’ll take a bath, at least half an hour. I’ll call and let you know about tomorrow,” he says.

“If cleaning yourself out turns you on, you _will_ deny yourself.” His grasp tightens, and now the pulling hurts.

“I won’t jerk off tonight!” Vince snaps, willing to do anything to make that grip ease. It does.

“You will not bring yourself to completion. You are _mine_ , and that is _my_ pleasure, not yours.”

 _What in fucking hell?_ Vince thinks, but his cock twitches at the claim, and he sighs without meaning to.

“Such a good kitten,” Gareth compliments. He leans over the center console to nudge Vince’s cheek with his ear. “As a reward, I’ll let you know.” His free hand presses low on Vince’s belly, just above his crotch. When he speaks, his voice is low and intimate. “My seed is so deep inside, you won’t be able to wash it all out tonight. You will keep part of me inside you.” He caresses Vince’s stomach as if he can feel his sperm through Vince’s skin, and Vince gasps at the words and the weight of Gareth’s hand in such an intimate place.

He withdraws slowly, his fingers lingering on every inch of Vince he can reach, and it feels like he’s being possessed. It takes every ounce of self-control Vince has not to chase after the touch.

“Give me a kiss good night, kitten, then go on up and set things right with your sister, and take your bath. If you have a heavy blanket—one that weighs a lot—put it on top of your normal covers tonight. It might seem too hot, but trust me, it will help you sleep better. Now my kiss, kitten.” Gareth leans forward halfway and waits for Vince to close the distance.

He almost just gets out of the car, but there’s something hypnotic about Gareth’s low, commanding voice, the way he expects to be obeyed. Vince is well on his way to half-mast and that languid, relaxed feeling keeps trying to seep in. He leans over to meet Gareth, and Gareth quickly takes control of it, licking into Vince’s mouth, claiming it for his own. All Vince can do is whimper into the kiss. When Gareth finally releases him, his lips feel bruised and swollen and he _knows_ he looks like he was just making out with someone.

So much for trying to convince Amelie he hadn’t fucked someone tonight. It had been a long shot anyway.

“Good night, kitten. I will see you tomorrow.” Gareth reaches over and gives a light stroke to Vince’s crotch as he says it, and Vince’s dick rises more at the fleeting touch. 

Vince gives a jerky nod and gets out of the car. He’s left standing at the entrance to his apartment building, looking and smelling like he just got fucked, and he’s got a visible hard-on. Just… great.

He sighs and starts into the building, avoiding the doorman’s eyes. It’s called a walk of shame for a reason, he supposes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone catch that Gareth didn't use a condom last chapter?


	7. Concerns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m fine, Mel,” he assures, putting a hand out to hold her back.
> 
> “Are you sure?” Her voice rings with concern, so he must look worse than he thought.

“Vince!” Amelie scolds, jumping to her feet and rushing to the door as soon as he opens it.

“I’m fine, Mel,” he assures, putting a hand out to hold her back.

“Are you sure?” Her voice rings with concern, so he must look worse than he thought.

“I’m sure. I just fell asleep. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you I was going out. I expected to beat you home.”

“Well, you didn’t, and it would have cost you nothing to let her know you were going out,” Connery says, the condescension thick in his voice.

Vince’s eyes narrow. He’s in no mood to deal with Amelie’s new boyfriend. “I said I was sorry.”

“Did you? Because I think I missed that part.”

“Why, exactly, are you here?” Vince demands, done with this shit.

“I offered to stay when Amelie and I got back and you weren’t here. She’s been trying to get ahold of you for hours,” he explains, and something in his eyes dares Vince to make more of it.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you so,” he bites out, barely keeping the civility in his tone. He’s in the wrong this time, and he knows it, but if that smug bastard doesn’t shut his mouth, Vince is going to do it for him. “I’m fine. You can go home now. Thank you for staying with Mel while she was worried.”

He moves to go down the hallway to get to the bathroom, only to have Connery grab his shoulder and stop him. Vince glares, but the look Connery gives him is considering and far too perceptive. “You can see yourself out,” Vince snarls, not wanting Connery to touch him or look at him too closely. “Good night, Mel.”

“Vince!” Amelie snaps, full of reproach, but Vince ignores her and goes straight to the bathroom. He locks the door behind him and starts running a bath. Before he strips down, he finally looks at himself in the mirror. His lips are noticeably red and swollen, his hair is the kind of mussed that, in his experience, comes specifically from being fucked, and his eyes are still a little red around the edges. He sighs and pulls his clothing off, dropping them in a mindless pile. Thankfully the linen closet is in the bathroom, and even though the apartment only has one full bath, it has a luxurious claw-foot tub that Amelie positively cooed over when he bought the place. When he pulls down his underwear, he can feel it sticking to him, and it makes him cringe.

Before this, Vince knew he was clean. One of the first things he usually does when he gets home for a break is to get tested. He’s usually neurotic about protection, so it’s more precautionary than anything, but it gave him peace of mind. He curses when he sees fingerprint bruises starting to show up on his thighs. They’re pretty high and intimate, and Vince heals pretty fast, but Men’s New York Fashion Week starts in three days. Explaining away bruises like these isn’t something he wants to do. He hopes that no one he’s walking for has anything scandalously short for him to wear.

He goes to test the water, and adjusts the temperature up a bit, wanting it to be just shy of too hot. He can feel that desire to scour until he bleeds itching at the back of his mind, and ruthlessly shuts it down. Vince feels around his hole, dips a finger in, shudders at the feeling, remembering Gareth’s words, _“My seed is so deep inside, you won’t be able to wash it all out tonight. You will keep part of me inside you.”_

Part of him is repulsed, but against all logic, Vince’s cock twitches at the memory. Unnerved, he goes to the tub and steps in, setting himself in slowly, adjusting to the heat of the water. He doesn’t waste time grabbing a washcloth and sudsing it up so he can begin scrubbing the lingering feeling of cum residue from his skin. He uses a handheld shower to get his hair wet so he can wash that too. When his hair is clean and rinsed and his face has been scrubbed, there’s just one place left to deal with. He turns off the water, then spreads his legs, the water coming up to his collar. He reaches between them with the washcloth. The roughness of the cloth against his sensitive rim makes him sigh and his cock stir.

 _Why did I react to him like that?_ He strokes the fabric over his hole again, relaxing almost against his own will. He knows he needs to try to clean out as much of Gareth’s cum and the lube as possible, so he sets the washcloth aside, instead sliding first one, then two fingers into himself to open his hole up better to the water, working to coax some inside. The heat is almost too much on the delicate inner tissues, but it’s just the right edge, and his cock has risen to more than half mast. When he remembers that first round with Gareth, he doesn’t know how he could possibly be getting hard again—twenty-two or not, it seems ridiculous.

_“You will not bring yourself to completion. You are mine, and that is my pleasure, not yours.”_

He groans and leans his head back against the rim of the tub as Gareth’s words come back to him. A nasty little voice whispers that there’s no way he would know, but a deeper voice says no.

He rushes through the last of the cleaning, and figures it’s been close enough to half an hour he should be good. He pulls the plug on the tub and gets out. He uses a towel to squeeze the water from his hair, then dries his body quickly and wraps the towel around his waist. He grabs the pile of his dirty clothes, and the scent of cum hits him like a slap in the face. He nearly drops the bundle as he presses a hand to his abdomen.

 _My seed is so deep inside_.

He wraps the clothing in a tighter ball to hide the scent, then steps out into the hall. He about jumps out of his skin when Connery is leaning against the opposite wall.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Vince demands, keeping his voice a low hiss.

“Amelie told me I can stay the night. She offered to have me stay in her bed, but I thought that would upset you.”

“You _being_ here upsets me,” Vince snaps, glancing at Amelie’s closed door.

“We should probably take this to your room.”

No, they should _not_. Vince does not want this man in his personal space, whether that be his bubble or his room. “Either go sleep on the couch or get the fuck out.”

“I’m sorry—that sounded like a suggestion,” Connery says, looking like Vince could yell the apartment down around him and he wouldn’t budge. “We should take this to your room unless you want Amelie to risk overhearing it.”

“You should leave before I call the fucking police to have you removed.”

“You won’t do that,” Connery says, voice as solid and implacable as his posture, “unless you want to report a rape.”

Vince can feel the blood draining from his face. Before he can think more about it, he grabs Connery by the arm and drags him into his room, tossing him toward the bed. He manages, somehow, not to slam the door, but it’s a near thing. “Sit the fuck down, because I am not having this conversation in a towel,” he says. He steps into the closet to toss the clothes into his laundry bin—he’ll have the suit dry cleaned later, and is grateful he keeps some of his loungewear in the closet. He gets dressed quickly, then steps back out, feeling a little more in control. “Now. _Talk_.”

“It was an educated guess. I volunteer at a downtown clinic, and we get date rape victims in from time to time. You reminded me of them when you came in.”

“Oh, did I now?” Vince says, tone scathing.

“You’d been crying, your hair was a mess, you smelled like sex, your mouth is _still_ bruised. And those are just the physical observations. Do you want me to continue?” He sounds so reasonable Vince wants to hit him just to make sure he’s actually a person.

“Let’s get something straight right now. I wasn’t raped.”

“Vince, if…”

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Vince interrupted. “I know rape, okay, asshole. I had some mind-blowing sex and I fucking fell asleep, okay? It’s really not any more sinister than that.”

Connery doesn’t look even a little bit convinced, and Vince doesn’t entirely blame him, but to his credit, he says, “If it was so innocent, why didn’t you tell Amelie?”

“Because I don’t tell my sister when I go out for fucking one-night stands, asshole,” Vince says, his tone broadcasting how obvious he feels it should be. “And I also do not usually actually fall asleep with my one-night stands. I honestly meant to be back before you guys got back.”

“Do you make a habit of—”

“If I’m not fucking you, that’s none of your damn business,” he says, and there is no room for argument.

Connery sighs. “When I asked if you’d been raped, you turned _white._ That’s not how someone who _hasn’t_ been raped reacts.”

“Fuck you,” Vince says, still angry. “I have been raped, that’s just not what happened tonight, okay?”

Connery frowns, looking so sincerely concerned, it’s hard to stay angry. “Does—”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “No, Amelie doesn’t know. She had _better_ not hear about it from you. It was a long fucking time ago. So, if I’m a little sensitive on the subject, that’s why, get it?” Connery looks like he’s going to say something, so Vince adds, “That’s not what happened tonight, all right?” He sounds more defensive than he means to, but he doesn’t talk about his rapes, ever, and he’s feeling like a raw nerve between whatever happened with Gareth and this discussion. “And if you start playing armchair shrink, I really will fucking toss you out on your ass.”

“Will you tell me what _did_ happen? For my piece of mind? Amelie only went to bed because I told her I’d check on you. She’s worried.” He laces his fingers and meets Vince’s eyes head-on. “I’m not your enemy, here. But I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“Why the fuck do you _want_ to help me?” People, in Vince’s experience, don’t just help people, but Connery hasn’t made any move so far to indicate that he wants to fuck Vince or that he wants anything else from him.

Connery chuckles. “You know I’m in med school. I want to be a doctor to help people. I adore your sister, and I get that you two are kind of a package deal. If I can help you, it helps her, whether she knows it or not.”

Vince has to stare, because as far as he can tell, Connery is absolutely sincere. By necessity, Vince has gotten really good at reading people, and if Connery radiated any more sincerity, he’d fucking glow. He runs a hand over his face. “Look, it was just a one-night stand that got a little kinkier than I expected. It wasn’t rape.” _No way it could be rape when I begged for it like a bitch in heat_. “But it was… more intense than I expected, and I fell asleep.” Why was it so hard to talk about this shit when he had no trouble talking about sex when he was _having_ it? Probably because he wasn’t having it with Connery, and had no intention of having it with him. Discussing his sex life with people he was having sex life was one thing, and honestly, even then, he didn’t talk about it much. “Really, that’s all.”

Connery still doesn’t look totally convinced, but he seems to realize that’s the best he’s getting from Vince. “Okay. If you want to talk—”

“I really don’t,” Vince interrupts. “What I want is to go back to sleep. Shouldn’t you?”

Shrugging, Connery says, “My rotations have me on some weird hours, so my schedule’s a bit messed up.”

It was Vince’s turn to frown. “Rotations?” he asks. “Isn’t that later in med school?”

“I, uh, took a lot of summer courses to get through my undergrad faster. I’m in my last year of med school, and I’ve already got my residency decided.”

“Wait—how old are you?” Vince asks.

“Twenty-four.”

Vince blinks, feeling stupid and exhausted, because Connery has a young face. “You’re two years older than me and you’re dating my sister who is, what, _five_ years younger than you?”

Connery simply says, “And how old was your one-night stand?”

Vince isn’t entirely sure how old Gareth is, but he’d be confident in saying there’s at least a decade between them. “Not the point. I’m not dating him.” He wants to point out _one-night stand_ , but he _is_ planning on seeing Gareth again tomorrow, even if he isn’t planning on sleeping with the man.

“And if I asked you what the greatest age difference of anyone you’d been involved with?”

“I’ve never ‘been involved’.” Vince makes air quotes, rolling his eyes. “I don’t date.”

The look Connery gives him in unimpressed. “I’ve known your sister since she entered college, almost two years now. I’ve always been attracted to her, but we’ve only been dating for three months. I’m happy to take things slow, especially in light of our age difference.”

It takes a moment to click, because this day has been something else, but Vince rubs his hands over his face. “Holy fuck, you want to marry my sister, don’t you?”

Connery _blushes_. It’d be adorable if not for the circumstances. “I, er, well… I mean…”

“Out,” Vince tells him.

“I just—”

“Out of my room. I’m done with you tonight.”

Connery stands up, looking surprised. “I thought you’d be kicking me out.”

“I probably should,” Vince says, glaring, then sighing. “… but my sister would kill me. And to your point, it’s a little hypocritical of me to tell her who she can and can’t be with based on age, so… out. Just… stay out of Amelie’s room. And if you wake me up in the morning, I reserve the right to kick you out for real.” That gets him a little smile, and Connery’s boyish good looks are too damn much for Vince to take right then. “Out,” he repeats.

Connery goes to the door but he pauses. “Good night, Vince.”

“ _Out_.”

If he hears Connery chuckling as the door closes, he pretends otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, another no-sex chapter, but it's a nice little stand alone. It might not end up being as rare as I thought in this one. Next chapter is more Gareth.


	8. A Discussion with Gareth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vince asks. “We’re talking. Not having sex.”  
>  _Not yet we aren’t,_ Gareth thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings at the end. Though really, if any of these things trigger you, I'm not 100% sure why you'd have read to this point...

Though he wasn’t _really_ worried, a tiny knot of tension releases when Gareth sees Vince waiting for him as instructed at 8 on the dot. He hadn’t expected Vince to call earlier—the kitten has his pride, after all—but he is sure that Vince wouldn’t be able to resist learning more.

Gareth smiles when he sees that Vince made an effort to be as dressed down as possible. It’s a stark contrast to the beautifully tailored suit of the previous night, but Vince is no less attractive in baggy, ill-fitting jeans and an oversized T-shirt. His hair is mussed in a way that tells Gareth he couldn’t be bothered to do anything with it, but the overall effect is front man of a band dressed down. Gareth is sure that _wasn’t_ what Vince was going for, but Gareth is also sure that Vince generally looks like he just walked out of a photoshoot.

He rolls down the window and tells Vince, “Get in.”

Vince’s eyes narrow but he follows the command. “Can’t we just do this here and be done with it?” Vince asks as he buckles up.

“No,” Gareth replies shortly. “First things first, however,” he says as he begins driving. “In the glove compartment is something for you.”

He can feel the suspicion radiating off Vince, but it does nothing to lessen Gareth’s amusement. After a moment, Vince opens the glove compartment and finds the envelope with his name on it. “Open it,” Gareth says.

Vince does, and Gareth can feel him still. “These are…”

“As I’m sure you do, I get tested regularly. I thought you would be less tense for our conversation if that weren’t hanging over you,” he explains.

He’s not surprised that Vince is reading the test results thoroughly despite Gareth’s assurances, but he can tell when he gets to the end of it because he relaxes fractionally into the seat. He folds up the results and tucks them back into the envelope before putting it back in the glove compartment.

“I’m not thanking you for that,” Vince tells him. “It doesn’t change the fact that you should not have fucked me bare without discussing it first.”

At Vince’s bristling tone, the mental image of a golden kitten with its back up and baring tiny fangs passes through Gareth’s mind. The thought makes him grin, which he is sure doesn’t endear him to Vince any further.

“As you say,” he deigns to agree, but his amusement colors his voice.

“I’m getting tested again anyway,” Vince says, anger seeping into his voice. Gareth dares a glance over, and those amazing golden eyes are even more fantastic with passion behind them.

“That’s prudent, if unnecessary.”

“You know, if this is how this whole thing is going to go, just fucking take me home.”

“Patience, kitten.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Gareth glances at Vince, and his body language is screaming _do not touch_. It makes Gareth want to push Vince’s boundaries, but even though having Vince trapped in the car with him is useful, he knows that he shouldn’t push while _he’s_ driving. If they were being chauffeured, it would be different, but there will be plenty of time to push this evening.

“Did you have your bath last night?” Gareth asks instead.

“Yes,” Vince bit the response off sharply.

“And you didn’t pleasure yourself?”

“Christ, it’s not any of your fucking business.”

That was a _no_ then. A pleased smile curls Gareth’s lips.

* * *

He lets them stay silent the rest of the ride to Gareth’s apartment.

“Shoes off at the door,” Gareth tells Vince, removing his own to give Vince the illusion it’s a general rule as opposed to something he specifically wants from Vince. “Follow me.”

He leads Vince to the kitchen and pulls out two bottles of water, handing the first to Vince. “Drink,” Gareth insists when Vince just holds the bottle at his side. Vince rolls his eyes, but opens it and takes a reasonable sized drink.

Time to push—just a bit. “This way,” he says, leading back to the bedroom. Vince follows him until Gareth opens his bedroom door.

“Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?” Gareth ask, trying to sound impatient, as if Vince is the one being unreasonable.

“Can’t we do this in the living room?” Vince asks. “We’re talking. Not having sex.”

_Not yet we aren’t,_ Gareth thinks, but manages to keep his expression neutral. He plans to. Vince may bolt after, and that’s fine, but he wants to keep him contained for the time being. “You’ll be more comfortable here,” he says instead, making sure to keep that thread of irritation in his voice. He almost asks _don’t you trust me_ , but he’s pretty sure that will remind Vince that he _doesn’t_.

“I’d rather do this in the living room.”

_Interesting_. Gareth is a little surprised that Vince is pushing back even this hard. There’s something a little cornered gaining strength in Vince’s eyes, so Gareth relents. Either the barebacking or his own confusion is driving Vince’s anxiety up, and the bedroom isn’t going to help with either of those.

“All right then,” he says, and gestures back the way they came. Vince immediately goes to look at the window. Gareth’s view is stunning and one of the reasons he chose the apartment. He steps in close to Vince, crowding him, but he doesn’t touch. “Go have a seat,” he murmurs into Vince’s ear.

A shudder goes through Vince, and he turns to look at Gareth, but Gareth moves back enough to let him pass. He sits on the arm of the couch, which won’t do at all.

“If you’re going to sit on the couch, sit on it properly,” Gareth instructs. “You’re an adult, not a child.”

Vince huffs, but moves to sit on the edge of the couch. It’s not much of an improvement since he looks like he’s going to bolt at any moment. Gareth sits at the other end of the couch, turned to face Vince, which makes Vince settle in a little deeper to turn and face him properly.

“You were going to explain?” Vince asks.

“I have some questions first. I apologize if they seem invasive, but I assure you, they are pertinent.” Vince’s eyes narrow at that. Such a strange mix of savvy and trust. Gareth rests an ankle on his knee to partially shield his crotch. He’s eager to have Vince beneath him again, but he has to tread carefully if he wants that to happen. “You will answer them honestly.”

It takes a moment, but Vince gives a bare nod.

“Good. Now, obviously you have experience with men. You also have experience with women?”

Vince rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Which do you prefer?” Gareth asks.

Vince shrugs. “I don’t really have a _preference_.”

It’s Gareth’s turn to narrow his eyes. “I said honestly,” he says, and he makes sure the censure is clear.

“It’s not a lie,” Vince protests.

“It’s not _honest_ , either. If an equally attractive man and woman came onto you, which are you more likely to go home with? _Honestly_.”

“It depends on the person. Why does this matter?”

“In _general_ , Vincent.”

“Fine, _in general_ , probably the guy. Guys tend to be better about no-strings-attached sex than girls do.”

Gareth laced his fingers together as he eyed Vince. “But that’s not the only reason,” he says, and this time it’s not a question. “When you sleep with men, are you ever the aggressor? The top?”

Vince shrugs again, but this time it’s uncomfortable. “Not usually,” he admits.

“What about with women? Do you seek—”

“Look, I don’t usually go looking for sex. I just… don’t usually turn it down when it’s offered.”

Gareth inclines his head, acknowledging he understands. “Between the three—women, topping men, and bottoming for them, which do you find most… satisfying?” He’s curious as to how Vince will answer this question, even though Gareth is sure he already knows the real answer. There is no way in hell Vince finds being the aggressor satisfying.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Vince says, “I don’t know.”

Gareth raises an eyebrow. “Hon—”

“I never really thought about it, okay?” Vince snaps. “It’s all sex. It all feels pretty good. What difference does it make?” he says. “And what does it have to do with anything?”

“It applies. I promise,” Gareth assures, but he stands up and sits back down on the center cushion of the couch. He’s still outside of Vince’s space, but now he can reach out and touch. Vince watches him with suspicious eyes, but he holds his ground. “Allow me to frame it this way instead. Would you rather fuck me or be fucked _by_ me?”

He’s close enough that he can see Vince’s pupils dilate just a hair when he says the second option. It’s hard to resist pushing further.

“Neither,” Vince says, moving to stand. Gareth puts a hand on his outside arm, effectively caging him against the couch.

“Answer the question, Vincent,” he commands. There’s no hint of give or request in that tone. Gareth can feel the tension ease in Vince from it. _God, he is really made to be owned, isn’t he?_ “If you had a choice between fucking me or being fucked by me, which would you prefer?” he asks again.

Vince can’t hold his gaze, but he says, “By you,” softly, almost as if ashamed.

Gareth loosens his grip on Vince’s arm to soothe it, moving up cup Vince’s face. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, kitten? Just answer all of my questions like that—honestly. Completely. That’s a good kitten.”

Something about what he just said hits a snag, because Vince tenses and pulls back, though only as far as the arm of the couch will allow him to. Gareth gives him space by leaning back, but he’s still close enough to stop Vince from leaving if he has to.

“How do you do that to me?” Vince asks, and the subconscious submission is gone, leaving fear in its place. “You just… talk to me like that… and I…”

“Has no one ever affected you this way before?” Gareth asks, curious. “Ever?”

To his credit, Vince calms down enough to think about it— _really_ think about it—before he answers. “Not like this.”

“A little like it though?” Gareth prods.

Vince raises a hand in a so-so motion. “Kinda.”

He probably doesn’t have the words to explain it, which is fine. “I’m going to give you some scenarios. You will answer with the first response that comes to mind. Do you understand?”

He’s still a little cautious, but Gareth can see calming effect the simple commands have. Trying to coax Vince into this had been the wrong tack, Gareth can see that now.

“Good,” Gareth praises, and Vince relaxes just a tiny amount more. “A man comes onto you in a club. Are you more likely to go with him if he says ‘I want to fuck you’ or ‘Can I fuck you’?” Vince is staring somewhere in the middle of Gareth’s chest, which won’t do. “’I want to fuck you’ or ‘Can I fuck you?’” he repeats, with more force.

“I want to,” Vince says, closing his eyes.

“’I want you to fuck me’ or ‘I want to fuck you.”

Vince’s eyes close tighter. “Fuck you.” It’s not a curse, but a reply.

“’Blow me’ or ‘fuck you’?” Gareth asks. A little shudder goes through Vince at that.

“Fuck you.”

“’Eat me out’ or ‘fuck me’?”

Vince swallows. “Eat.”

Gareth eases a little closer. “When was the last time you turned someone down for sex? Aside from me tonight.”

A hair falls into Vince’s face as he thinks, and Gareth brushes it back behind an ear. The unexpected contact makes Vince jump and open his eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember the last time you turned someone down?”

Vince thinks about it again, then says, “I turn down random people who recognize me sometimes, but you can usually tell they don’t actually mean it. Aside from that… I… don’t know.”

“How old were you when you first had sex with a woman?”

“Thirteen?”

_Younger than I thought_.

“A man?”

Vince hesitates then says, “Fourteen, I think.”

“You think?” Gareth asks, because there’s something Vince isn’t saying. He goes back to the exact wording of the question. “How old were you the first time you were fucked?” he asks instead.

Vince is up before Gareth can stop him this time, and Gareth curses himself. Thankfully, Vince simply goes to the window instead of leaving. Gareth follows him this time, stopping just behind him. “How old were you the first time you were raped?” he asks, voice low and soft.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Vince demands, turning to face him.

“I need to understand your sexual history to understand how best to frame this discussion. I don’t want to hit sore spots like this one.”

“I was twelve, all right? It was my first real out-of-town job, and—” He cuts himself off, and takes a few visibly deep breaths. When he speaks again, Vince’s voice is almost eerily calm. “I was twelve. Thirteen the first time I slept with a woman. Fourteen the first time I slept with a guy because I said yes.”

“Many men who have been raped never are okay with homosexual sex again,” Gareth says, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“Yeah, well, I needed the job.”

“What did he say to you? To make you say yes?” Gareth asks. He’s not really surprised that between the rapes—there was definitely more than one—and the early exposure to sex that Vince would decide it was worth sleeping with someone for a job. By then, he’d already learned that sex was power. But Gareth thinks that there might be something more about this one.

Vince shrugs. “He just said he’d give me the job if I gave him a good ride.”

“What _exactly_ did he say?”

He turned to look at Gareth, though he looks more confused than angry. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters.”

There’s a unique weight to Vince’s gaze. Gareth distantly wonders if there’s something about those impossible eyes that gives them more force.

“He said, ‘ride me like the good boy you are, and I promise you’ll have all the work you could want.’”

Gareth gives him a soft smile. “And you’re a very good boy, so you gave him a good ride.”

Vince hunches, making himself smaller. “He held up his end,” he says as if that makes an adult man coercing a fourteen-year-old boy into his bed okay.

Gareth takes Vince’s chin in hand and forces him to straighten, not letting him hide. “And it was different, too, being with him. It felt good, didn’t it? Good enough that you stopped telling people ‘no.’” Eyes cast to the ground, Vince nods. “You’re a people pleaser. You’re favored by some of the pickiest and most demanding people in the business because you do _exactly_ what they want, and you don’t argue. When someone tells you what to do, you do it. You almost never ask questions. Stop me if I’m getting something wrong,” he says. Vince gives a jerky shake of his head, and he’s looking a little dear-in-headlights-like, but Gareth continues. “When you have sex with people, it’s always the assertive ones—the ones who tell you what they want and what they want from you. You enjoy women and even fucking the occasional man, but neither of those give you the satisfaction of being filled. You particularly like it when they’re bigger than you are, not so they can hold you down, but it feels like you’re being protected. You love giving your partner what they say they want. How am I doing? Good still?” Given the wide-eyed look on Vince’s face, he’s hitting the nail on the head.

He steps in closer, pressing the lengths of their bodies together. “It feels good to just do what you’re told, and it feels even better when you’ve done it perfectly and they tell you how good you are. How perfect you are. You try so hard to be good, make things good for everyone else, your own pleasure is almost an afterthought at times.” He shifts a leg between Vince’s and presses up. Despite the panic that keeps trying to creep into his eyes, Vince is aroused. God, he is beautiful like this. “Do you know why?” He presses harder and Vince gasps, grabbing Gareth’s arms for stability. He shakes his head.

“You’re a natural submissive.”

* * *

Vince just stares at him for a moment before the anger kicks in. “What the _hell_?” he demands, shoving Gareth away.

Gareth grabs Vince’s arms and holds him still, though not tight enough to hurt.

“It’s not a value judgment. It’s simply something you _are_.”

“Let me go,” Vince demands. This was _such_ a waste of time. Why the _fuck_ did he tell Gareth all that shit? He’s never, _ever_ told anyone else it.

“No. Calm down.”

“ _Calm down_?”

“ _Vincent_.” Something about that tone, the absolute command in it, the expectation of obedience, freezes Vince where he is. Gareth sighs. “Come. Let’s sit,” he says, but he pretty much manhandles Vince back to the couch. Once they’re seated, Gareth much closer than he was before, Gareth asks, “What do you know about BDSM?”

He sounds so calm and reasonable, Vince feels like he’s overreacting. He’s not, he’s _sure_ he’s not, but it _feels_ like it, which always gets under his skin. “I’m not a masochist.”

“I never said you were, and I’m not sure you _are_. The S in BDSM can mean _submissive_ or _sadomasochism._ You can be submissive without being a masochist. I’d like to explore that later, but what you _need_ is to be controlled, cared for, to be ordered, to not have to _think_. You love pleasing people, making them happy—that’s another facet of submission. You react to _me_ the way you do because I’m a trained dominant and _I know how to use it_.”

“Are you saying _anyone_ like you could do this to me?” Vince demands, horrified.

“Probably not _anyone_. Anyone you distrusted sufficiently would have hard time. You had to trust me to a degree to let me fuck you. That allowed me in. From there, I knew which buttons to push, which strings to pull to get you to do what I wanted. You’ve said it yourself—you haven’t reacted to anyone like you do to me before. But I bet if you think about it, you tend to like being told what to do in bed. You like to be controlled—maybe not confined—but being given orders… you love it. You _crave_ it.”

Vince shakes his head. “No, you’re wrong. I’m not a—” The word sticks in his throat.

“Not a freak,” Gareth reassures. “You’re simply wired differently than most people. For some people, commanding people is what gives them pleasure. For some, _obeying_ those commands gives them pleasure. I’m the former type. You’re the latter. It’s why you sleep with anyone aggressive enough to push you. You don’t have to make a decision. You just have to make them happy.”

“You’re _wrong_ ,” Vince insists, even as the words ring true.

“I bet there’s at least one person you sleep with on a semiregular basis who you don’t even _like,_ ” Gareth says.

Jacob instantly springs to mind. Why does he keep sleeping with Jacob? He detests the man, and has for years. He does it because Jacob _expects_ it. Because he doesn’t ask, he just assumes. Now that he is thinking about it, it isn’t hard to think of other examples—guys who were just assholes, who some of his few friends couldn’t understand why he would fuck, he did it because they were pushy and demanding, and they acted like it was their _right_.

Gareth is cupping his face in both hands, and Vince doesn’t remember seeing him move. He’s making hushing sounds, his thumbs stroking over the bones of Vince’s cheeks in a way that’s somehow calming. “It’s all right, kitten. Just breathe.”

Vince’s heart pounds like he’s just finished a sprint. Panic is itching under his skin, and he trembles with it.

“Hush, kitten. I’m here. Let it sink in. Breathe with me.”

Matching his own breaths to Gareth’s helps calm him down, though even when his breathing evens out, his heart still feels like it could kick into overdrive with the slightest push.

“There you are,” Gareth says. It’s warm and satisfied, and the simple praise of it makes Vince relax a little more. “Back with me?” he asks.

Speaking seems too hard, so Vince just meets Gareth’s eyes and nods.

“So good,” Gareth says, smiling. Now that Gareth has pointed it out, Vince notices how he relaxes at the praise. He realizes he has _always_ been like that. Simple, sincere praise has always made the knot that lives behind his breastbone loosen. “I have some materials I can give you to read to help you understand how your nature can affect you outside of sex, and some of the things it can do for you _during_ sex.”

_During sex_? Vince must look as confused as he feels because Gareth chuckles. It’s a surprisingly deep, rumbling laugh, and it tickles across Vince’s skin like a physical touch.

“Yes, kitten. During sex. Sometimes, when the sex is very, very good, it’s like you go somewhere else in your head, isn’t it? A place where there is just you and your partner and the bliss?”

He tries to speak, but his mouth won’t open, as if Vince’s clumsy words will somehow break the atmosphere, so he just nods again. Gareth moves a hand to card through Vince’s hair, and Vince closes his eyes at the feeling. He’s pretty indifferent about his hair most of the time. Employers generally love it, but he loves _this_. Feeling someone play with his hair is one of the most soothing things in the world.

“Yes,” Gareth says, softly, speaking for Vince. “Did you think sex was like that for everyone? That it makes everyone dizzy with euphoria?” he asks.

Vince opens his eyes again and looks at Gareth in surprise. He’s never thought much about it, but, well, yes, he pretty much assumed sex was like that for everyone.

Gareth chuckles again, dragging blunt fingertips against Vince’s scalp with the perfect pressure to get a soft sigh out of Vince. “It’s not, kitten. That euphoria? Most people don’t experience it. Sex is pleasurable, but the intensity you experience is a different level. And this?” He slides a hand up Vince’s thigh, then up under his shirt while the other hand keeps stroking his hair, and Vince leans into the touch, a soft moan escaping him. “Just this is enough to start dropping you into what’s called subspace. You become more receptive, particularly to touch, but also to words. You find yours like a dream.”

Vince sighs, relaxing even further.

“Do you know how much watching you drop into subspace is turning me on, kitten? Do you have any idea how much I need you like this? I want you to be mine. I don’t want anyone else to see you like this, anyone else to touch you like this. Would you like that, kitten? Would you like to be mine?”

Gareth had leaned forward at some point, and his breath is hot and teasing on Vince’s ear. He should be surprised when Gareth cups him through his jeans, and he’s hard; he’s so hard. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed.

“You want to be mine, don’t you, kitten?” Gareth asks. He deftly undoes the buttons on Vince’s fly and pulls out Vince’s length, stroking it in concert with the hand in his hair, even as his mouth moves down, breath teasing Vince’s throat. “Tell me, kitten, with words. Who do you want to belong to?”

His ability to think past the pleasure and the need and the emptiness is quickly fading. “You,” he says, somehow forcing the word past the block in his throat.

“You want to be mine?” Gareth asks. His breath on Vince’s Adam’s apple makes his cock _throb_ in time with his heart.

“Yes,” Vince breathes out, barely more than a whisper.

“Mine alone?”

“ _Yes_.”

The hands disappear from both his cock and his hair, and Vince whines at the loss. He doesn’t whine for long before Gareth’s hands are under his shirt, then the shirt is over his head. “So beautiful,” Gareth says, almost reverent, before he leans forward and takes a nipple in his mouth. He teases Vince with mouth and tongue and teeth for a minute before letting go of him. He leans back, stretched out on the couch, taking a heartbeat to find a throw pillow to prop his head. Vince whimpers at the loss of touch.

“Hush, kitten,” Gareth says, and he palms the obvious tent in his pants. “We’re far from done. Take me out.”

No thought required there. Vince takes Gareth out and is reminded that Gareth is a very well-endowed man.

“Would you like to suck me, kitten?” he asks, stroking himself lazily, watching Vince with a heat so intense it should scorch Vince’s skin. “Would you like to see if you can take all of me in? Take me down your throat as well as you take me inside you?”

The mental image makes Vince shudder and lick his lips.

“Maybe later,” Gareth says. “Right now, I want to feel all of you. Take off your pants, kitten. Your underwear. I want to touch you everywhere.”

Being touched everywhere sounds wonderful. Vince squirms out of his pants, then moves between Gareth’s legs.

“Up on my chest, my beautiful kitten. I want to feel your weight on me.”

Somewhere in Vince’s mind, he thinks this should be awkward, laying on top of a Gareth who is fully clothed except for his exposed dick. It’s not. When he lays on Gareth’s chest, feels Gareth’s hands immediately move to stroke any bit of bare skin in reach, he sinks into it.

“So perfect, kitten.” One hand gropes Vince’s ass, while the other tickles his lips with fingertips. “Open up and get them wet for me,” Gareth says.

Vince opens his mouth, taking in first one, then two of Gareth’s fingers. Trying to get them as wet as he can. Gareth adds a third, finger and it feels full, but not uncomfortably so—at least, not until Gareth pushes them deep, making Vince gag on them.

“Shh,” he soothes, pulling back and stroking Vince’s hair with his other hand. “Just relax and let me in, kitten. Take my fingers in as deep as I want to push them,” he says. “They’re nowhere near as long as I am, and I will see you take my full length into your throat before long.”

Vince can feel Gareth’s length pulse against his stomach at the thought, and it makes Vince moan softly as Gareth pushes his fingers back in.

“There you are. So good.” He pushes in deeper, and Vince gags despite his best efforts to relax. The hand on the back of his head doesn’t let him pull away though. “Submit, kitten. Just let go and let me in. _Submit_.”

Almost as if a switch has been thrown, Vince relaxes, and when Gareth pushes forward this time, his long fingers reach in and stroke Vince’s throat from the inside. Vince gags around them a little still—he can’t not—but he doesn’t try to get away either.

“So beautiful, kitten.” Gareth pulls back, then pushes them back inside, deep, then _spreads them_ , making Vince gag again. “So _perfect_.”

He’s drooling and gagging, but it isn’t quite enough to get him to throw up. Gareth finally takes his hand out of Vince’s mouth, murmuring praise and compliments as he moves down to Vince’s hole. He rubs just a little of the spit on his fingers against the outside, and then he’s pressing two in. It’s _barely_ enough lubrication, and it makes Vince gasp. Gareth’s other hand wanders over Vince, stroking anywhere he can reach. Gareth hooks the two fingers, pulling hard upward. It feels strange but good, and Vince gasps into it as the third finger slides inside. It’s rougher than usual, but it doesn’t _hurt_ , exactly. If anything, the minimal lube is ratcheting up the intensity.

“What do you think, kitten?” Gareth asks. Pressed to him like this, Vince can feel its rumble echo in his own chest, and he shudders. “Are you ready for me?” Gareth opens his fingers as wide as he can, stretching Vince as he pulls them out. Vince gasps, spreading his legs wider, trying to thrust against Gareth, but he has no leverage. Gareth takes his chin and lifts it, making their eyes meet. “I want to be inside of you,” he says. “I want to see you ride me, watch as you take me in. Can you do that for me, kitten?”

Just imagining being stretched around Gareth’s length is enough to make Vince moan. He wants it— _needs_ it. He nods, and Gareth’s had slides back into his hair, stroking his scalp.

“If you want me, kitten, you’ll have to make me wet,” he says, pushing Vince backward a bit. Vince follows the motion, slinking back down Gareth’s body until his face is held above Gareth’s swollen cock.

His mouth waters, and he doesn’t even think, simply dropping down to swallow as much of Gareth as he can.

“That’s right, kitten. Get me nice and wet. This is all the lube you’re getting, so make it good.”

Something in Vince’s mind is trying to get his attention, but Gareth thrusts up, forcing himself deeper into Vince’s throat. All thoughts but the cock in his mouth and the emptiness in his ass dissolve. Gareth’s hand urges him to take more in, take Gareth deeper. Vince is no stranger to giving blow jobs or receiving them, but Gareth is definitely the biggest guy he’s ever tried to blow, and he keeps gagging.

“Something to work on, kitten,” Gareth says, sounding disappointed as he releases the grip he had in Vince’s hair.

The disappointment is like a gut punch. He needs to be better, needs to make this better. Vince tries to go back down on Gareth, wants to swallow him whole, make him proud, _please_ him, but Gareth stops him.

“Up, kitten. You can’t take me in your throat yet, but you did a good job of getting me wet. Now up. I want to watch you as your body welcomes me.”

Vince scrambles up. The couch is deep enough that he can anchor his knees on either side of Gareth’s body and not feel like he’s going to fall off. Gareth takes his hips and helps maneuver him until he’s right above Gareth’s upright length.

“You shouldn’t stall, kitten. Saliva dries much faster than lube. Take me in.” His hands press down just enough to direct Vince. Following the direction is easy, and the pressure of Gareth’s cock is soon a welcome challenge, but the head is already drying, and Vince’s body, though prepped, resists it. “Relax for me, kitten. Let me in.”

Whether the words are a trigger or Vince’s body just gives up resisting, Gareth’s head breaches him. From there, Gareth continues pushing down on Vince’s hips, silently insistent that Vince not stop until Gareth is buried to the hilt. It’s slow going—Vince’s body resisting more than Vince thought it would. The friction is something else though. When his hips meet Gareth’s, Vince is trembling and he thinks if Gareth moves even a little, he’s going to cum.

“So good,” Gareth says, running his hands up and down Vince’s sides and his thighs, not touching him anywhere too sensitive. “So perfect for me, kitten. Taking me all the way in, like that. You look like you could cum just from being penetrated.” Gareth rolls his hips a fraction, and Vince has to brace himself on Gareth’s abs, biting off a whine as precum oozes from him. “Oh yes,” Gareth says, voice dropping even more, but the _satisfaction_ in it settles behind Vince’s chest, like a precious gift. “Lean back, kitten. If you need to brace yourself, do it on my thighs. Show me _everything_.”

It takes a moment to move because Vince is trembling, but there’s no resisting that command. Has to arch his back a little to brace his arms on Gareth’s thighs and it somehow forces him even deeper. He can feel more pre dripping from his dick, and he bites down on the sound that wants to come out of his throat.

Then Gareth strokes Vince, even as his other hand presses down at the base of his cock, keeping him from cumming. “I want to hear you, kitten. Don’t hold anything back.”

Vince rocks into the strokes, helpless, and the shifting causes Gareth to move within him. The simultaneous pleasures become the only thing he’s aware of once Gareth rubs his prostate, and only the firm grip Gareth has on his base keeps him from ejaculating. Gareth rolls his hips again, and the angle has him pressing _hard_ on Vince’s prostate, but he can’t cum. It has him whining and gasping, writhing on Gareth’s dick, but all that does is keep hitting his spot.

“Yes, that’s it, kitten. Chase it,” Gareth commands, giving a particularly hard thrust up that makes Vince’s cock weep, but _he still can’t cum._ “Chase it, kitten. I want you to orgasm.”

“Can’t,” Vince forces out. He wants to put a hand on Gareth’s, make him move, make him let go of Vince so he _can_ cum, but he doesn’t think he can keep his balance if does.

Another hard, deep thrust that sends pleasure coursing through him, and Vince doesn’t know that he’s ever been so close and not cum. He’s right there, right on the edge, the need building well past when it would usually overflow.

“Cum for me, kitten,” Gareth commands, thrusting harder and faster, and it’s too much. The pleasure, the need that has been building in his core suddenly spills over, and Vince orgasms, his whole body tensing as he cries out his completion. It’s dragged out as Gareth grabs his hip and starts thrusting fast and hard, chasing his own orgasm, and the repeated abuse his prostate takes keeps him cumming for longer than he ever has.

He’s in a complete haze as Gareth somehow sits up and pulls Vince to rest his forehead against Gareth’s shoulder, his body still shaking with aftershocks. He’s without bone or muscle, a rag doll for Gareth to shift as he will.

When Vince finally comes back down, he’s still got Gareth’s dick inside of him, is still on his knees, over Gareth’s lap. A soft, warm throw blanket has been pulled around his shoulders, and Gareth is stroking him over it, petting him, but Vince can’t bring himself to complain.

He can already tell he’s going to be sore. He chuckles into Gareth’s shoulder when he realizes that despite being very clear that they weren’t going to have sex, he’s got Gareth’s bare dick in his ass again, and he’s not even that upset about it.

“Shh,” Gareth hushes, hands continuing their lazy, soothing motions, though he presses Vince a little closer to his chest. It’s enough to make Gareth’s softening cock brush Vince’s prostate, and he gasps, realizing that he’s still _rock hard_.

_How is that even possible?_ He _came_. Vince _knows_ he came. It was the most intense and mind-blowing orgasm he’d ever experienced, and he has no idea how he’s possibly still hard, except…

Except he doesn’t feel any of the stickiness of cum on Gareth’s suit where Vince’s body is pressed to him. At least, nowhere near as much as there should be.

A hand disappears from his back into the blanket, and takes Vince’s length in hand. He cries out and tenses, because it’s _too_ _much_ in the aftermath of that orgasm.

“Shhh,” Gareth hushes again. “You had a dry orgasm.” He continues the lazy, too much, and still somehow, not enough strokes of Vince’s cock. Vince can’t help but rock into his hand, which again, shifts Gareth to stimulate his prostate, and _fuck_ , it is _way_ too much. He whimpers into Gareth’s shoulder. “Such a good kitten. That’s it. There’s nothing for you to do. Just let me take care of you.”

The hand stroking his back and shoulders is soothing; the hand stroking his cock is too much; the cock in his ass is by turns perfect and too much. His mind is racing between all the sensations, and he just can’t _think_ —

“ _Submit_ , kitten,” Gareth says, his voice low and unyielding and intimate in Vince’s ear. “Just feel, kitten. _Submit_.”

Vince closes his eyes again and relaxes inot Gareth’s body. Gareth wants him like this, all he has to do is submit, let Gareth play him, command him. It brings back that fuzzy, beautiful place in his head, and Vince sinks into it as Gareth says, “ _Submit_ ,” again, his hands never stilling.

When Vince cums this time, it’s a gentle thing, like last soothing strokes of a good massage. Gareth catches his cum in his hand, then raises it for Vince to lick clean. Vince does because to do otherwise at the moment isn’t even a thought in his brain.

Spent and utterly sated, Vince wraps his arms around Gareth’s waist, settles his head on Gareth’s shoulder and lets himself drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for discussion of past, underage rape and sexual activity. Gagging. Way under-negotiated kink. 
> 
> I really shouldn't have to tell you that you should _never_ discuss kink or negotiate with someone who is in subspace, right? That's every bit as compromising to their ability to consent as being drugged or drunk are. 
> 
> Side note: I am back at work, which is a YAY. Work saps my writing mojo, which is a big BOO, but I'm not in a position to just be lazy and write all day. So, fair warning--updates will likely be coming much less regularly than before. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are still love (though only if you feel they're deserved).


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